FROM -THE- LIBRARY- OF- 
A.   W.   Ryder 


The  Mahatma  and  the  Hare 


THEN,   FROM    BETWEEN  THE   WARDENS   OF   THE    GATES,   FLOWED 
FORTH   THE    HELPERS   AND   THE    GUARDIANS   SEEKING   THEIR 

BELOVED  "  (see  p.  162) 


THE  MAHATMA  AND 
THE  HARE 

A  Dream  Story 

BY 
H.  RIDER  HAGGARD 


With  12  Illustrations  by 
MESSRS.  W.  T.  HORTON  and  H.  M.  BUOCK,  R.I. 


NEW  YORK 

HENRY  HOLT  AND  COMPANY 
1911 


COPYRIGHT,  1911, 

BY 
HENRY  HOLT  AND  COMPANY 


Published  October,  1911 


^iijj-  ^'^AH^  KJ 


THE    OUINN    A    BOOEN    CO.    PRESS 
RAHWAY,    N.    J. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

THE  MAHATMA          ......  1 

THE  GREAT  WHITE  ROAD         ....  24 

THE  HARE 35 

THE    SHOOTING 60 

THE  COURSING 91 

THE    HUNTING         ......  107 

THE  COMING  OF  THE  RED-FACED  MAN       .         .  135 


M89307 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

"  THEN  FROM  BETWEEN  THE  WARDENS  OF  THE 
GATES  FLOWED  FORTH  THE  HELPERS  "  Frontispiece 

PAGE 

"  I  WENT  TO  A  BRIDGE  I  KNEW  "...  7 

"  I,  WHO  MYSELF  WAS  WORSHIPPED  AS  A  GOD  "  19 

"  CHANGED  INDEED,  MYSTERIOUS,  WONDERFUL  "  29 

THE  GREAT  WHITE  ROAD        .        .        .  37 

"  OH  !  MY  BEAUTY/'  HE  SAID,  "  so  I  HAVE  GOT 

You  AT  LAST  " 63 

"  I  SAW  A  LINE  OF  MEN  WALKING  TOWARDS  ME  "  79 
"  I  MADE  MY  LAST  DOUBLE  "  .  .  .  .103 
"HERE  SHE  is!"  YELLED  ONE  OF  THEM  .  .115 
"  THE  DOGS  RUSHED  ABOUT  "  ..  .  .  .121 
"  MY  !  ISN'T  SHE  A  BEAUTY  "  ....  129 

"  GUARDED,  GUIDED  BY  THE  SPIRITS  OF  DEAD 

SUNS"  159 


THE  MAHATMA  AND 
THE  HARE 

A  DREAM  STORY 

"  Ultimately  a  good  hare  was  found  which  took  the 
field  at  ...  There  the  hounds  pressed  her,  and  on 
the  hunt  arriving  at  the  edge  of  the  cliff  the  hare 
could  be  seen  crossing  the  beach  and  going  right  out 
to  sea.  A  boat  was  procured,  and  the  master  and 
some  others  rowed  out  to  her  j  ust  as  she  drowned,  and 
bringing  the  body  in,  gave  it  to  the  hounds.  A  hare 
swimming  out  to  sea  is  a  sight  not  often  witnessed." — • 
Local  paper,  January  1Q11. 

.  .  .  A  long  check  occurred  in  the  latter  part  of 
this  hunt,  the  hare  having  laid  up  in  a  hedgerow, 
from  which  she  was  at  last  evicted  by  a  crack  of  the 
whip.  Her  next  place  of  refuge  was  a  horse-pond, 
which  she  tried  to  swim,  but  got  stuck  in  the  ice 
midway,  and  was  sinking,  when  the  huntsman  went 
in  after  her.  It  was  a  novel  sight  to  see  huntsman 
and  hare  being  lifted  over  a  wall  out  of  the  pond,  the 
eager  pack  waiting  for  their  prey  behind  the  wall." — 
Local  paper,  February  1911. 

THE  author  supposes  that  the  first  of  the 
above  extracts  must  have  impressed  him. 
At  any  rate,  on  the  night  after  the  reading 


,2      TR^  MAHATMA  AND  THE  HARE 

,  .  pf  it,,  just,  as  he  went  to  sleep,  or  on  the  fol- 
:  lowing  :mbrh'irig  just  as  he  awoke,  he  can- 
not tell  which,  there  came  to  him  the  title 
and  the  outlines  of  this  fantasy,  including 
the  command  with  which  it  ends.  With 
particular  clearness  did  he  seem  to  see  the 
picture  of  the  Great  White  Road,  "  straight 
as  the  way  of  the  Spirit,  and  broad  as  the 
breast  of  Death,"  and  of  the  little  Hare 
travelling  towards  the  awful  Gates. 

Like  the  Mahatma  of  this  fable,  he 
expresses  no  opinion  as  to  the  merits  of 
the  controversy  between  the  Red-faced 
Man  and  the  Hare  that,  without  search 
on  his  own  part,  presented  itself  to  his 
mind  in  so  odd  a  fashion.  It  is  one  on 
which  anybody  interested  in  such  matters 
can  form  an  individual  judgment. 


THE  M  AH  ATM  A1 

EVERY  ONE  has  seen  a  hare,  either  crouched 
or  running  in  the  fields,  or  hanging  dead  in 
a  poulterer's  shop,  or  lastly  pathetic,  even 
dreadful-looking  and  in  this  form  almost 
indistinguishable  from  a  skinned  cat,  on  the 
domestic  table.  But  not  many  people  have 
met  a  Mahatma,  at  least  to  their  knowledge. 
Not  many  people  know  even  who  or  what  a 
Mahatma  is.  The  majority  of  those  who 
chance  to  have  heard  the  title  are  apt  to 
confuse  it  with  another,  that  of  Mad  Hatter. 
This  is  even  done  of  malice  prepense 
(especially,  for  obvious  reasons,  if  a  hare  is 
in  any  way  concerned)  in  scorn,  not  in  ignor- 
ance, by  persons  who  are  well  acquainted 

1  Mahatma,  "  great-souled."  "One  of  a  class  of 
persons  with  preternatural  powers,  imagined  to  exist 
in  India  and  Thibet." — New  English  Dictionary. 


4      THE  MAHATMA  AND  THE  HARE 

with  the  real  meaning  of  the  word  and  even 
with  its  Sanscrit  origin.  The  truth  is  that  an 
incredulous  Western  world  puts  no  faith  in 
Mahatmas.  To  it  a  Mahatma  is  a  kind  of 
spiritual  Mrs.  Harris,  giving  an  address  in 
Thibet  at  which  no  letters  are  delivered. 
Either,  it  says,  there  is  no  such  person,  or 
he  is  a  fraudulent  scamp  with  no  greater 
occult  powers — well,  than  a  hare. 

I  confess  that  this  view  of  Mahatmas  is 
one  that  does  not  surprise  me  in  the  least. 
I  never  met,  and  I  scarcely  expect  to  meet, 
an  individual  entitled  to  set  "  Mahatma " 
after  his  name.  Certainly  I  have  no  right  to 
do  so  who  only  took  that  title  on  the  spur  of 
the  moment  when  the  Hare  asked  me  how  I 
was  called,  and  now  make  use  of  it  as  a 
nom-de-plume.  It  is  true  there  is  Jorsen, 
by  whose  order,  for  it  amounts  to  that,  I 
publish  this  history.  For  aught  I  know 
Jorsen  may  be  a  Mahatma,  but  he  does  not 
in  the  least  look  the  part. 


THE  MAHATMA  5 

Imagine  a  bluff  person  with  a  strong, 
hard  face,  piercing  grey  eyes,  and  very 
prominent,  bushy  eyebrows,  of  about  fifty 
or  sixty  years  of  age.  Add  a  Scotch  accent 
and  a  meerschaum  pipe,  which  he  smokes 
even  when  he  is  wearing  a  frock  coat  and  a 
tall  hat,  and  you  have  Jorsen.  I  believe 
that  he  lives  somewhere  in  the  country,  is 
well  off,  and  practises  gardening.  If  so  he 
has  never  asked  me  to  his  place,  and  I  only 
meet  him  when  he  comes  to  Town,  as  I 
understand,  to  visit  flower-shows. 

Then  I  always  meet  him  because  he 
orders  me  to  do  so,  not  by  letter  or  by 
word  of  mouth  but  in  quite  a  different 
way.  Suddenly  I  receive  an  impression 
in  my  mind  that  I  am  to  go  to  a  certain 
place  at  a  certain  hour,  and  that  there  I 
shall  find  Jorsen.  I  do  go,  sometimes  to 
an  hotel,  sometimes  to  a  lodging,  some- 
times to  a  railway  station  or  to  the  corner 
of  a  particular  street,  and  there  I  do  find 


6     THE  MAHATMA  AND  THE  HARE 

Jorsen  smoking  his  big  meerschaum  pipe. 
We  shake  hands  and  he  explains  why  he 
has  sent  for  me,  after  which  we  talk  of 
various  things.  Never  mind  what  they 
are,  for  that  would  be  telling  Jorsen's 
secrets  as  well  as  my  own,  which  I  must 
not  do. 

It  may  be  asked  how  I  came  to  know 
Jorsen.  Well,  in  a  strange  way.  Nearly 
thirty  years  ago  a  dreadful  thing  happened 
to  me.  I  was  married  and,  although  still 
young,  a  person  of  some  mark  in  litera- 
ture. Indeed  even  now  one  or  two  of 
the  books  which  I  wrote  are  read  and  re- 
membered, although  it  is  supposed  that 
their  author  has  long  left  the  world. 

The  thing  which  happened  was  that  my 
wife  and  our  daughter  were  coming  over 
from  the  Channel  Islands,  where  they  had 
been  on  a  visit  (she  was  a  Jersey  woman) 
and,  and — well  the  ship  was  lost,  that's  all. 
The  shock  broke  my  heart,  in  such  a  way 


I  WENT  TO  A  BRIDGE   I  KNEW 


THE  MAHATMA  9 

that  it  has  never  been  mended  again,  but 
unfortunately  did  not  kill  me. 

Afterwards  I  took  to  drink  and  sank, 
as  drunkards  do.  Then  the  river  began 
to  draw  me.  I  had  a  lodging  in  a  poor 
street  at  Chelsea,  and  I  could  hear  the 
river  calling  me  at  night,  and — I  wished 
to  die  as  the  others  had  died.  At  last 
I  yielded,  for  the  drink  had  rotted  out 
all  my  moral  sense.  About  one  o'clock 
of  a  wild,  winter  morning  I  went  to  a 
bridge  I  knew  where  in  those  days  police- 
men rarely  came,  and  listened  to  that  call 
of  the  water. 

"  Come!  "  it  seemed  to  say.  "  This  world 
is  the  real  hell,  ending  in  an  eternal  naught. 
The  dreams  of  a  life  beyond  and  of  re-unions 
there  are  but  a  demon's  mocking  breathed 
into  the  mortal  heart,  lest  by  its  universal 
suicide  mankind  should  rob  him  of  his 
torture-pit.  There  is  no  truth  in  all  your 
father  taught  you  "  (he  was  a  clergyman 


10  THE  MAHATMA  AND  THE  HARE 

and  rather  eminent  in  his  profession), 
"  there  is  no  hope  for  man,  there  is  noth- 
ing he  can  win  except  the  deep  happiness 
of  sleep.  Come  and  sleep." 

Such  were  the  arguments  of  that  Voice 
of  the  river,  the  old,  familiar  arguments  of 
desolation  and  despair.  I  leant  over  the 
parapet;  in  another  moment  I  should  have 
been  gone,  when  I  became  aware  that  some 
one  was  standing  near  to  me.  I  did  not 
see  the  person  because  it  was  too  dark. 
I  did  not  hear  him  because  of  the  raving 
of  the  wind.  But  I  knew  that  he  was  there. 
So  I  waited  until  the  moon  shone  out  for 
a  while  between  the  edges  of  two  ragged 
clouds,  the  shapes  of  which  I  can  see  to 
this  hour.  It  showed  me  Jorsen,  looking 
just  as  he  does  to-day,  for  he  never  seems 
to  change — Jorsen,  on  whom,  to  my  know- 
ledge, I  had  not  set  eyes  before. 

"  Even  a  year  ago,"  he  said,  in  his  strong, 
rough  voice,  "  you  would  not  have  allowed 


THE  MAHATMA  11 

your  mind  to  be  convinced  by  such  argu- 
ments as  those  which  you  have  just  heard 
in  the  Voice  of  the  river.  That  is  one  of 
the  worst  sides  of  drink;  it  decays  the 
reason  as  it  does  the  body.  You  must 
have  noticed  it  yourself." 

I  replied  that  I  had,  for  I  was  surprised 
into  acquiescence.  Then  I  grew  defiant 
and  asked  him  what  he  knew  of  the  argu- 
ments which  were  or  were  not  influencing 
me.  To  my  surprise — no,  that  is  not  the 
word — to  my  bewilderment,  he  repeated 
them  to  me  one  by  one  just  as  they  had 
arisen  a  few  minutes  before  in  my  heart. 
Moreover,  he  told  me  what  I  had  been 
about  to  do,  and  why  I  was  about  to  do  it. 

"  You  know  me  and  my  story,"  I  mut- 
tered at  last. 

"  No,"  he  answered,  "  at  least  not  more 
than  I  know  that  of  many  men  with 
whom  I  chance  to  be  in  touch.  That 
is,  I  have  not  met  you  for  nearly  eleven 


12  THE  MAHATMA  AND  THE  HARE 

hundred  years.  A  thousand  and  eighty- 
six,  to  be  correct.  I  was  a  blind  priest 
then  and  you  were  the  captain  of  Irene's 
guard." 

At  this  news  I  burst  out  laughing  and 
the  laugh  did  me  good. 

"  I  did  not  know  I  was  so  old,"  I  said. 

"  Do  you  call  that  old?  "  answered  Jorsen. 
"  Why,  the  first  time  that  we  had  anything 
to  do  with  each  other,  so  far  as  I  can  learn, 
that  is,  was  over  eight  thousand  years  ago, 
in  Egypt  before  the  beginning  of  recorded 
history." 

"  I  thought  that  I  was  mad,  but  you  are 
madder,"  I  said. 

"  Doubtless.  Well,  I  am  so  mad  that  I 
managed  to  be  here  in  time  to  save  you 
from  suicide,  as  once  in  the  past  you  saved 
me,  for  thus  things  come  round.  But 
your  rooms  are  near,  are  they  not?  Let  us 
go  there  and  talk.  This  place  is  cold  and 
the  river  is  always  calling." 


THE  MAHATMA  13 

That  was  how  I  came  to  know  Jorsen, 
whom  I  believe  to  be  one  of  the  greatest 
men  alive.  On  this  particular  night  that  I 
have  described  he  told  me  many  things,  and 
since  then  he  has  taught  me  much,  me  and 
a  few  others.  But  whether  he  is  what  is 
called  a  Mahatma  I  am  sure  I  do  not  know. 
He  has  never  claimed  such  a  rank  in  my 
hearing,  or  indeed  to  be  anything  more 
than  a  man  who  has  succeeded  in  winning 
a  knowledge  of  his  own  powers  out  of  the 
depths  of  the  dark  that  lies  behind  us.  Of 
course  I  mean  out  of  his  past  in  other 
incarnations  long  before  he  was  Jorsen. 
Moreover,  by  degrees,  as  I  grew  fit  to  bear 
the  light,  he  showed  me  something  of  my 
own,  and  of  how  the  two  were  intertwined. 

But  all  these  things  are  secrets  of  which 
I  have  perhaps  no  right  to  speak  at  pre- 
sent. It  is  enough  to  say  that  Jorsen 
changed  the  current  of  my  life  on  that 
night  when  he  saved  me  from  death. 


14  THE  M  AH  ATM  A  AND  THE  HARE 

For  instance,  from  that  day  onward  to 
the  present  time  I  have  never  touched  the 
drink  which  so  nearly  ruined  me.  Also 
the  darkness  has  rolled  away,  and  with  it 
every  doubt  and  fear;  I  know  the  truth, 
and  for  that  truth  I  live.  Considered  from 
certain  aspects  such  knowledge,  I  admit, 
is  not  altogether  desirable.  Thus  it  has 
deprived  me  of  my  interest  in  earthly 
things.  Ambition  has  left  me  altogether; 
for  years  I  have  had  no  wish  to  succeed 
in  the  profession  which  I  adopted  in  my 
youth,  or  in  any  other.  Indeed  I  doubt 
whether  the  elements  of  worldly  success 
still  remain  in  me;  whether  they  are  not 
entirely  burnt  away  by  that  fire  of  wisdom 
in  which  I  have  bathed.  How  can  we 
strive  to  win  a  crown  we  have  no  longer 
any  desire  to  wear?  Now  I  desire  other 
crowns  and  at  times  I  wear  them,  if  only 
for  a  little  while.  My  spirit  grows  and 
grows.  It  is  dragging  at  its  strings. 


THE  MAHATMA  15 

What  am  I  to  look  at?  A  small,  white- 
haired  man  with  a  thin  and  rather  plaintive 
face  in  which  are  set  two  large,  dark  eyes 
that  continually  seem  to  soften  and  develop. 
That  is  my  picture.  And  what  am  I  in 
the  world?  I  will  tell  you.  On  certain 
days  of  the  week  I  employ  myself  in 
editing  a  trade  journal  that  has  to  do  with 
haberdashery.  On  another  day  I  act  as 
auctioneer  to  a  firm  which  imports  and 
sells  cheap  Italian  statuary;  modern,  very 
modern  copies  of  the  antique,  florid  marble 
vases,  and  so  forth.  Some  of  you  who  read 
may  have  passed  such  marts  in  different 
parts  of  the  city,  or  even  have  dropped  in 
and  purchased  a  bust  or  a  tazza  for  a 
surprisingly  small  sum.  Perhaps  I  knocked 
it  down  to  you,  only  too  pleased  to  find 
a  bond  fide  bidder  amongst  my  company. 

As  for  the  rest  of  my  time — well,  I 
employ  it  in  doing  what  good  I  can 
among  the  poor  and  those  who  need 


16  THE  MAHATMA  AND  THE  HARE 

comfort  or  who  are  bereaved,  especially 
among  those  who  are  bereaved,  for  to 
such  I  am  sometimes  able  to  bring  the 
breath  of  hope  that  blows  from  another 
shore. 

Occasionally  also  I  amuse  myself  in  my 
own  fashion.  Thus  sure  knowledge  has 
come  to  me  about  certain  epochs  in  the 
past  in  which  I  lived  in  other  shapes,  and 
I  study  those  epochs,  hoping  that  one 
day  I  may  find  time  to  write  of  them 
and  of  the  parts  I  played  in  them.  Some 
of  these  parts  are  really  extremely  inter- 
esting, especially  as  I  am  of  course  able 
to  contrast  them  with  our  modern  modes 
of  thought  and  action. 

They  do  not  all  come  back  to  me  with 
equal  clearness,  the  earlier  lives  being,  as 
one  might  expect,  the  more  difficult  to 
recover  and  the  comparatively  recent  ones 
the  easiest.  Also  they  seem  to  range  over 
a  vast  stretch  of  time,  back  indeed  to  the 


THE  MAHATMA  17 

days  of  primeval,  prehistoric  man.  In 
short,  I  think  the  subconscious  in  some 
ways  resembles  the  conscious  and  natural 
memory;  that  which  is  very  far  off  to  it 
grows  dim  and  blurred,  that  which  is  com- 
paratively close  remains  clear  and  sharp, 
although  of  course  this  rule  is  not  invari- 
able. Moreover  there  is  foresight  as  well 
as  memory.  At  least  from  time  to  time 
I  seem  to  come  in  touch  with  future 
events  and  states  of  society  in  which  I 
shall  have  my  share. 

I  believe  some  thinkers  hold  a  theory 
that  such  conditions  as  those  of  past,  pre- 
sent, and  future  do  not  in  fact  exist; 
that  everything  already  is,  standing  like 
a  completed  column  between  earth  and 
heaven;  that  the  sum  is  added  up,  the 
equation  worked  out.  At  times  I  am 
tempted  to  believe  in  the  truth  of  this 
proposition.  But  if  it  be  true,  of  course 
it  remains  difficult  to  obtain  a  clear  view 


18  THE  MAHATMA  AND  THE  HARE 

of  other  parts  of  the  column  than  that 
in  which  we  happen  to  find  ourselves  ob- 
jectively conscious  at  any  given  period, 
and  needless  to  say  impossible  to  see  it 
from  base  to  capital. 

However  this  may  be,  no  individual  entity 
pervades  all  the  column.  There  are  great 
sections  of  it  with  which  that  entity  has 
nothing  to  do,  although  it  always  seems  to 
appear  again  above.  I  suppose  that  those 
sections  which  are  empty  of  an  individual 
and  his  atmosphere  represent  the  intervals 
between  his  lives  which  he  spends  in  sleep, 
or  in  states  of  existence  with  which  this 
world  is  not  concerned,  but  of  such  gulfs  of 
oblivion  and  states  of  being  I  know  nothing. 

To  take  a  single  instance  of  what  I  do 
know:  once  this  spirit  of  mine,  that  now 
by  the  workings  of  destiny  for  a  little 
while  occupies  the  body  of  a  fourth-rate 
auctioneer  and  of  the  editor  of  a  trade 
journal,  dwelt  in  that  of  a  Pharaoh  of 


I.  WHO  MYSELF   WAS   WORSHIPPED  AS  A  GOD 


THE  MAHATMA  21 

Egypt — never  mind  which  Pharaoh.  Yes, 
although  you  may  laugh  and  think  me 
mad  to  say  it,  for  me  the  legions  fought 
and  thundered;  to  me  the  peoples  bowed 
and  the  secret  sanctuaries  were  opened 
that  I  and  I  alone  might  commune  with 
the  gods;  I  who  in  the  flesh  and  after  it 
myself  was  worshipped  as  a  god. 

Well,  of  this  forgotten  Royalty  of  whom 
little  is  known  save  what  a  few  inscrip- 
tions have  to  tell,  there  remains  a  portrait 
statue  in  the  British  Museum.  Sometimes 
I  go  to  look  at  that  statue  and  try  to  recall 
exactly  under  what  circumstances  I  caused 
it  to  be  shaped,  puzzling  out  the  story  bit 
by  bit. 

Not  long  ago  I  stood  thus  absorbed  and 
did  not  notice  that  the  hour  of  the  closing 
of  the  great  gallery  had  come.  Still  I 
stood  and  gazed  and  dreamt  till  the  police- 
man on  duty,  seeing  and  suspecting  me, 
came  up  and  roughly  ordered  me  to  begone. 


22  THE  MAHATMA  AND  THE  HARE 

The  man's  tone  angered  me.  I  laid  my 
hand  on  the  foot  of  the  statue,  for  it  had 
just  come  back  to  me  that  it  was  a  "  Ka  " 
image,  a  sacred  thing,  any  Egyptologist 
will  know  what  I  mean,  which  for  ages  had 
sat  in  a  chamber  of  my  tomb.  Then  the 
Ka  that  clings  to  it  eternally  awoke  at  my 
touch  and  knew  me,  or  so  I  suppose.  At 
least  I  felt  myself  change.  A  new  strength 
came  into  me;  my  shape,  battered  in  this 
world's  storms,  put  on  something  of  its 
ancient  dignity;  my  eyes  grew  royal.  I 
looked  at  that  man  as  Pharaoh  may  have 
looked  at  one  who  had  done  him  insult. 
He  saw  the  change  and  trembled — yes, 
trembled.  I  believe  he  thought  I  was 
some  imperial  ghost  that  the  shadows  of 
evening  had  caused  him  to  mistake  for 
man;  at  any  rate  he  gasped  out — 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  I  was  only  obeying 
orders.  I  hope  your  Majesty  won't  hurt 
me.  Now  I  think  of  it  I  have  been  told 


THE  MAHATMA  23 

that  things  come  out  of  these  old  statues 
in  the  night." 

Then  turning  he  ran,  literally  ran,  where 
to  I  am  sure  I  do  not  know,  probably  to 
seek  the  fellowship  of  some  other  police- 
man. In  due  course  I  followed,  and,  lifting 
the  bar  at  the  end  of  the  hall,  departed 
without  further  question  asked.  After- 
wards I  was  very  glad  to  think  that  I  had 
done  the  man  no  injury.  At  the  moment 
I  knew  that  I  could  hurt  him  if  I  would, 
and  what  is  more  I  had  the  desire  to  do  so. 
It  came  to  me,  I  suppose,  with  that  breath 
of  the  past  when  I  was  so  great  and  abso- 
lute. Perhaps  I,  or  that  part  of  me  then 
incarnate,  was  a  tyrant  in  those  days  and 
this  is  why  now  I  must  be  so  humble. 
Fate  is  turning  my  pride  to  its  hammer  and 
beating  it  out  of  me. 

For  thus  in  the  long  history  of  the  soul 
it  serves  all  our  vices 


THE  GREAT  WHITE  ROAD 

Now,  as  I  have  hinted,  under  the  teach- 
ing of  Jorsen,  who  saved  me  from  degrada- 
tion and  self-murder,  yes,  and  helped  me 
with  money  until  once  again  I  could  earn 
a  livelihood,  I  have  acquired  certain  know- 
ledge and  wisdom  of  a  sort  that  are  not 
common.  That  is,  Jorsen  taught  me  the 
elements  of  these  things;  he  set  my  feet 
upon  the  path  which  thenceforward,  having 
the  sight,  I  have  been  able  to  follow  for 
myself.  How  I  followed  it  does  not 
matter,  nor  could  I  teach  others  if  I  would. 
I  am  no  member  of  any  mystic  brother- 
hood, and,  as  I  have  explained,  no  Ma- 
hatma,  although  I  have  called  myself  thus 
for  present  purposes  because  the  name  is  a 
convenient  cloak.  I  repeat  that  J  am  igno- 

24 


THE  GREAT  WHITE  ROAD          25 

rant  if  there  are  such  people  as  Mahatmas, 
though  if  so  I  think  Jorsen  must  be  one 
of  them.  Still  he  never  told  me  this.  What 
he  has  told  me  is  that  every  individual  spirit 
must  work  out  its  own  destiny  quite  inde- 
pendently of  others.  Indeed,  being  rather 
fond  of  fine  phrases,  he  has  sometimes 
spoken  to  me  of,  or  rather,  insisted  upon 
what  he  calls  "  the  lonesome  splendour  of 
the  human  soul,"  which  it  is  our  business  to 
perfect  through  various  lives  till  it  reaches  a 
glory  and  a  might  that  I  can  scarcely  ap- 
preciate and  am  certainly  unable  to  describe. 
To  tell  the  truth,  the  thought  of  this 
"  lonesome  splendour "  to  which  it  seems 
some  of  us  may  attain,  alarms  me.  I  have 
had  enough  of  being  lonesome,  and  I  do 
not  ask  for  any  particular  splendour.  My 
only  ambitions  are  to  find  those  whom  I 
have  lost,  and  in  whatever  life  I  live  to  be 
of  use  to  others.  However,  as  I  gather 
that  the  exalted  condition  to  which  Jorsen 


26  THE  MAHATMA  AND  THE  HARE 

alludes  is  thousands  of  ages  off  for  any  of 
us,  and  may  after  all  mean  something 
quite  different  to  what  it  seems  to  mean, 
the  thought  of  it  does  not  trouble  me  over 
much.  Meanwhile  what  I  seek  is  the  vision 
of  those  I  love. 

Now  I  have  this  power.  Occasionally 
when  I  am  in  deep  sleep  some  part  of  me 
seems  to  leave  my  body  and  to  be  trans- 
ported quite  outside  the  world.  It  travels, 
as  though  I  were  already  dead,  to  the  Gates 
that  all  who  live  must  pass,  and  there 
takes  its  stand,  on  the  Great  White  Road, 
watching  those  who  have  been  called  speed 
by  continually.  Those  upon  the  earth 
know  nothing  of  that  Road.  Blinded  by 
their  pomps  and  vanities,  they  cannot  see, 
they  will  not  see  it  always  growing  towards 
the  feet  of  every  one  of  them.  But  I  see 
and  know.  Of  course  you  who  read  will 
say  that  this  is  but  a  dream  of  mine,  and  it 
may  be.  Still,  if  so,  it  is  a  very  wonderful 


THE  GREAT  WHITE  ROAD          27 

dream,  and  except  for  the  change  of  the 
passing  people,  or  rather  of  those  who 
have  been  people,  always  very  much  the 
same. 

There,  straight  as  the  way  of  the  Spirit 
and  broad  as  the  breast  of  Death,  is  the 
Great  White  Road  running  I  know  not 
whence,  up  to  those  Gates  that  gleam 
like  moonlight  and  are  higher  than  the 
Alps.  There  beyond  the  Gates  the  radiant 
Presences  move  mysteriously.  Thence  at 
the  appointed  time  the  Voice  cries  and 
they  are  opened  with  a  sound  like  to  that  of 
deepest  thunder,  or  sometimes  are  burned 
away,  while  from  the  Glory  that  lies  beyond 
flow  the  sweet-faced  welcomers  to  greet 
those  for  whom  they  wait,  bearing  the  cups 
from  which  they  give  to  drink.  I  do  not 
know  what  is  in  the  cups,  whether  it  be 
a  draught  of  Lethe  or  some  baptismal 
water  of  new  birth,  or  both;  but  always 
the  thirsting,  world-worn  soul  appears  to 


28  THE  MAHATMA  AND  THE  HARE 

change,  and  then  as  it  were  to  be  lost  in 
the  Presence  that  gave  the  cup.  At  least 
they  are  lost  to  my  sight.  I  see  them  no 
more. 

Why  do  I  watch  those  Gates,  in  truth 
or  in  dream,  before  my  time?  Oh!  you  can 
guess.  That  perchance  I  may  behold  those 
for  whom  my  heart  burns  with  a  quench- 
less, eating  fire.  And  once  I  beheld — not 
the  mother  but  the  child,  my  child,  changed 
indeed,  mysterious,  wonderful,  gleaming 
like  a  star,  with  eyes  so  deep  that  in  their 
depths  my  humanity  seemed  to  swoon. 

She  came  forward;  she  knew  me;  she 
smiled  and  laid  her  finger  on  her  lips.  She 
shook  her  hair  about  her  and  in  it  vanished 
as  in  a  cloud.  Yet  as  she  vanished  a  voice 
spoke  in  my  heart,  her  voice,  and  the  words 
it  said  were — 

"Wait,   our  Beloved!     Wait!" 

Mark  well.  "  Our  Beloved,"  not  "  My 
Beloved."  So  there  are  others  by  whom 


CHANGED   INDEED,   MYSTERIOUS,    WONDERFUL 


THE  GREAT  WHITE  ROAD          31 

I  am  beloved,  or  at  least  one  other,  and 
I  know  well  who  that  one  must  be. 

After  this  dream,  perhaps  I  had  better 
call  it  a  dream,  I  was  ill  for  a  long  while, 
for  the  joy  and  the  glory  of  it  overpowered 
me  and  brought  me  near  to  the  death  I 
had  always  sought.  But  I  recovered,  for 
my  hour  is  not  yet.  Moreover,  for  a  long 
while  as  we  reckon  time,  some  years  in- 
deed, I  obeyed  the  injunction  and  sought 
the  Great  White  Road  no  more.  At  length 
the  longing  grew  too  strong  for  me  and 
I  returned  thither,  but  never  again  did 
the  vision  come.  Its  word  was  spoken, 
its  mission  was  fulfilled.  Yet  from  time  to 
time  I,  a  mortal,  seem  to  stand  upon  the 
borders  of  that  immortal  Road  and  watch 
the  newly  dead  who  travel  it  towards  the 
glorious  Gates. 

Once  or  twice  there  have  been  among 
them  people  whom  I  had  known.  As 


32  THE  MAHATMA  AND  THE  HARE 

these  pass  me  I  appear  to  have  the  power 
of  looking  into  their  hearts,  and  there  I 
read  strange  things.  Sometimes  they  are 
beautiful  things  and  sometimes  ugly  things. 
Thus  I  have  learned  that  those  I  thought 
bad  were  really  good  in  the  main,  for  who 
can  claim  to  be  quite  good?  And  on  the 
other  hand  that  those  I  believed  to  be  as 
honest  as  the  day — well,  had  their  faults. 
To  take  an  example  which  I  quote 
because  it  is  so  absurd.  The  rooms  I 
live  in  were  owned  by  a  prim  old  woman 
who  for  more  than  twenty  years  was  my 
landlady.  She  and  I  were  great  friends, 
indeed  she  tended  me  like  a  mother,  and 
when  I  was  so  ill  nursed  me  as  perhaps 
few  mothers  would  have  done.  Yet  while 
I  was  watching  on  the  Road  suddenly  she 
came  by,  and  with  horror  I  saw  that  during 
all  those  years  she  had  been  robbing  me, 
taking,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  many  things,  in 
money,  trinkets,  and  food.  Often  I  had 


THE  GREAT  WHITE  ROAD          33 

discussed  with  her  where  these  articles 
could  possibly  have  gone,  till  finally  sus- 
picion settled  upon  the  man  who  cleaned 
the  windows.  Yes,  and  worst  of  all,  he  was 
prosecuted,  and  I  gave  evidence  against 
him  or  rather  strengthened  her  evidence, 
on  faith  of  which  the  magistrate  sent  him  to 
prison  for  a  month. 

"Oh!  Mrs.  Smithers,"  I  said  to  her, 
"how  could  you  do  it,  Mrs.  Smithers?" 

She  stopped  and  looked  about  her  terri- 
fied, so  that  my  heart  smote  me  and  I 
added  in  haste,  "  Don't  be  frightened,  Mrs. 
Smithers ;  I  forgive  you." 

"  I  can't  see  you,  sir,"  she  exclaimed,  or 
so  I  dreamed,  "but  there!  I  always  knew 
you  would." 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Smithers,"  I  replied;  "but 
how  about  the  window-cleaner  who  went  to 
jail  and  lost  his  situation? " 

Then  she  passed  on  or  was  drawn  away 
without  making  any  answer. 


34  THE  MAHATMA  AND  THE  HARE 

Now  comes  the  odd  part  of  the  story. 
When  I  woke  up  on  the  following  morning 
in  my  rooms,  it  was  to  be  informed  by 
the  frightened  maid-of-all-work  that  Mrs. 
Smithers  had  been  found  dead  in  her  bed. 
Moreover,  a  few  days  later  I  learned  from 
a  lawyer  that  she  had  made  a  will  leaving 
me  everything  she  possessed,  including  the 
lease  of  her  house  and  nearly  £1000,  for 
she  had  been  a  saving  old  person  during 
all  her  long  life. 

Well,  I  sought  out  that  window-cleaner 
and  compensated  him  handsomely,  saying 
that  I  had  found  I  was  mistaken  in  the  evi- 
dence I  gave  against  him.  The  rest  of  the 
property  I  kept,  and  I  hope  that  it  was  not 
wrong  of  me  to  do  so.  It  will  be  remem- 
bered that  some  of  it  was  already  my  own, 
temporarily  diverted  into  another  channel, 
and  for  the  rest  I  have  so  many  to  help. 
To  be  frank  I  do  not  spend  much  upon 
myself. 


THE  HARE 

Now  I  have  done  with  myself,  or  rather 
with  my  own  insignificant  present  history, 
and  come  to  that  of  the  Hare.  It  im- 
pressed me  a  good  deal  at  the  time,  which 
is  not  long  ago,  so  much  indeed  that  I 
communicated  the  facts  to  Jorsen.  He 
ordered  me  to  publish  them,  and  what 
Jorsen  orders  must  be  done.  I  don't 
know  why  this  should  be,  but  it  is  so. 
He  has  authority  of  a  sort  that  I  am 
unable  to  define. 

One  night  after  the  usual  aspirations  and 
concentration  of  mind,  which  by  the  way 
are  not  always  successful,  I  passed  into 
what  occultists  call  spirit,  and  others  a  state 
of  dream.  At  any  rate  I  found  myself 
upon  the  borders  of  the  Great  White  Road, 

35 


36  THE  MAHATMA  AND  THE  HARE 

as  near  to  the  mighty  Gates  as  I  am  ever 
allowed  to  come.  How  far  that  may  be 
away  I  cannot  tell.  Perhaps  it  is  but  a  few 
yards  and  perhaps  it  is  the  width  of  this 
great  world,  for  in  that  place  which  my 
spirit  visits  time  and  distance  do  not  exist. 
There  all  things  are  new  and  strange,  not 
to  be  reckoned  by  our  measures.  There 
the  sight  is  not  our  sight  nor  the  hearing 
our  hearing.  I  repeat  that  all  things  are 
different,  but  that  difference  I  cannot 
describe,  and  if  I  could  it  would  prove  past 
comprehension. 

There  I  sat  by  the  borders  of  the  Great 
White  Road,  my  eyes  fixed  upon  the  Gates 
above  which  the  towers  mount  for  miles  on 
miles,  outlined  against  an  encircling  gloom 
with  the  radiance  of  the  world  beyond 
the  worlds.  Four-square  they  stand,  those 
towers,  and  fourfold  are  the  roads  that  run 
to  them,  and  fourfold  the  gates  that  open 
to  the  denizens  of  other  earths.  But  of 


THE    GREAT  WHITE    ROAD 


THE  HARE  39 

these  I  have  no  knowledge  beyond  the 
fact  that  it  is  so  in  my  visions. 

I  sat  upon  the  borders  of  the  Road, 
my  eyes  fixed  in  hope  upon  the  Gates, 
though  well  I  knew  that  the  hope  would 
never  be  fulfilled,  and  watched  the  dead 
go  by. 

They  were  many  that  night.  Some 
plague  was  working  in  the  East  and  un- 
chaining thousands.  The  folk  that  it  loosed 
were  strange  to  me  who  in  this  particular 
life  have  seldom  left  England,  and  I  studied 
them  with  curiosity;  high-featured,  dark- 
hued  people  with  a  patient  air.  The  know- 
ledge which  I  have  told  me  that  one  and 
all  they  were  very  ancient  souls  who  often 
and  often  had  walked  this  Road  before, 
and  therefore,  although  as  yet  they  did 
not  know  it,  were  well  accustomed  to  the 
journey.  No,  I  am  wrong,  for  here  and 
there  an  individual  did  know.  Indeed 
one  deep-eyed,  wistful  little  woman,  who 


40  THE  MAHATMA  AND  THE  HARE 

carried  a  baby  in  her  arms,  stopped  for  a 
moment  and  spoke  to  me. 

"  The  others  cannot  see  you  as  I  do," 
she  said.  "  Priest  of  the  Queen  of  queens, 
I  know  you  well;  hand  in  hand  we  climbed 
by  the  seven  stairways  to  the  altars  of 
the  moon." 

'  Who  is  the  Queen  of  queens? "  I  asked. 

"  Have  you  forgotten  her  of  the  hundred 
names  whose  veils  we  lifted  one  by  one; 
her  whose  breast  was  beauty  and  whose 
eyes  were  truth?  In  a  day  to  come  you 
will  remember.  Farewell  till  we  walk  this 
Road  no  more." 

"  Stay — when  did  we  meet?  " 

"  When  our  souls  were  young,"  she  an- 
swered, and  faded  from  my  ken  like  a 
shadow  from  the  sea. 

After  the  Easterns  came  many  others 
from  all  parts  of  the  earth.  Then  suddenly 
appeared  a  company  of  about  six  hundred 
folk  of  every  age  and  English  in  their 


THE  HARE  41 

looks.  They  were  not  so  calm  as  are  the 
majority  of  those  who  make  this  journey. 
When  I  read  the  papers  a  few  days  later  I 
understood  why.  A  great  passenger  ship 
had  sunk  suddenly  in  mid  ocean  and  they 
were  all  cut  off  unprepared. 

When,  followed  by  a  few  stragglers, 
these  had  passed  and  gathered  themselves  in 
the  red  shadow  beneath  the  gateway  towers 
waiting  for  the  summons,  an  unusual  thing 
occurred.  For  a  few  moments  the  Road 
was  left  quite  empty.  After  that  last  great 
stroke  Death  seemed  to  be  resting  on  his 
laurels.  When  thus  unpeopled  it  looked  a 
very  vast  place  like  to  a  huge  arched  cause- 
way, bordered  on  either  side  by  blackness, 
but  itself  gleaming  with  a  curious  phosphor- 
escence such  as  once  or  twice  I  have  seen 
in  the  waters  of  a  summer  sea  at  night. 

Presently  in  the  very  centre  of  this  illu- 
minated desolation,  whilst  it  was  as  yet  far 
away,  something  caught  my  eye,  something 


42  THE  MAHATMA  AND  THE  HARE 

so  strange  to  the  place,  so  utterly  unfamiliar 
that  I  watched  it  earnestly,  wondering  what 
it  might  be.  Nearer  and  nearer  it  came, 
with  curious,  uncertain  hops;  yes,  a  little 
brown  object  that  hopped. 

"  Well,"  I  said  to  myself,  "  if  I  were  not 
where  I  am  I  should  say  that  yonder  thing 
was  a  hare.  Only  what  would  a  hare  be 
doing  on  the  Great  White  Road?  How 
could  a  hare  tread  the  pathway  of  eternal 
souls?  I  must  be  mistaken." 

So  I  reflected  whilst  still  the  thing  hopped 
on,  until  I  became  certain  that  either  I 
suffered  from  delusions,  or  that  it  was  a 
hare;  indeed  a  particularly  fine  hare,  much 
such  a  one  as  a  friend  of  my  old  landlady, 
Mrs.  Smithers,  had  once  sent  her  as  a  Christ- 
mas present  from  Norfolk,  which  hare  I  ate. 

A  few  more  hops  brought  it  opposite  to 
my  post  of  observation.  Here  it  halted  as 
though  it  seemed  to  see  me.  At  any  rate 
it  sat  up  in  the  alert  fashion  that  hares  have, 


THE  HARE  43 

its  fore-paws  hanging  absurdly  in  front 
of  it,  with  one  ear,  on  which  there  was  a 
grey  blotch,  cocked  and  one  dragging,  and 
sniffed  with  its  funny  little  nostrils.  Then 
it  began  to  talk  to  me.  I  do  not  mean 
that  it  really  talked,  but  the  thoughts 
which  were  in  its  mind  were  flashed  on  to 
my  mind  so  that  I  understood  perfectly, 
yes,  and  could  answer  them  in  the  same 
fashion.  It  said,  or  thought,  thus: — 

"  You  are  real.  You  are  a  man  who 
yet  lives  beneath  the  sun,  though  how  you 
came  here  I  do  not  know.  I  hate  men, 
all  hares  do,  for  men  are  cruel  to  them. 
Still  it  is  a  comfort  in  this  strange  place 
to  see  something  one  has  seen  before 
and  to  be  able  to  talk  even  to  a  man, 
which  I  could  never  do  until  the  change 
came,  the  dreadful  change — I  mean  be- 
cause of  the  way  of  it,"  and  it  seemed  to 
to  shiver.  "  May  I  ask  you  some  ques- 
tions?" 


44  THE  MAHATMA  AND  THE  HARE 

"  Certainly,"  I  said  or  rather  thought  back. 
1  You  are  sure  that  they  won't  make 
you  angry  so  that  you  hurt  me? " 

"  I  can't  hurt  you,  even  if  I  wished  to 
do  so.  You  are  not  a  hare  any  longer, 
if  you  ever  were  one,  but  only  the  shadow 
of  a  hare." 

"Ah!  I  thought  as  much,  and  that's 
a  good  thing  anyhow.  Tell  me,  Man, 
have  you  ever  been  torn  to  pieces  by 
dogs?" 

"  Good  gracious!  no." 

"  Or  coursed,  or  hunted,  or  caught  in 
a  trap,  or  shot  all  over  your  back,  or 
twisted  up  in  nets  and  choked  in  snares? 
Or  have  you  swum  out  to  sea  to  die  more 
easily,  or  seen  your  mate  and  mother  and 
father  killed?" 

"No,  no.  Please  stop,  Hare;  your 
questions  are  very  unpleasant." 

"  Not  half  so  unpleasant  as  the  things 
are  themselves,  I  can  assure  you,  Man. 


THE  HARE  45 

I  will  tell  you  my  story  if  you  like;  then 
you  can  judge  for  yourself.  But  first,  if 
you  will,  do  you  tell  me  why  I  am 
here.  Have  you  seen  more  hares  about 
this  place? " 

"  Never,  nor  any  other  animals.  No, 
I  am  wrong,  once  I  saw  a  dog." 

"A  dog.  How  horrible!  What  was 
it  doing?  Hunting?  If  there  are  no 
hares  here  what  could  it  be  hunting? 
A  rabbit,  or  a  pheasant  with  a  broken 
wing,  or  perhaps  a  fox?  I  should  not 
mind  so  much  if  it  were  a  fox.  I  hate 
foxes;  they  catch  young  hares  when  they 
are  asleep  and  eat  them." 

"  None  of  these  things.  I  was  told 
that  it  belonged  to  a  little  girl  who  died. 
That  broke  its  heart,  so  that  it  died  also 
when  they  shut  her  up  in  a  box.  There- 
fore it  was  allowed  to  accompany  her 
here  because  it  had  loved  so  much.  In- 
deed I  saw  them  together,  both  very 


46  THE  MAHATMA  AND  THE  HARE 

happy,  and  together  they  went  through 
those  gates." 

"  If  dogs  love  little  girls  why  don't 
they  love  hares,  at  least  as  anything 
likes  to  be  loved,  for  the  dog  didn't 
want  to  eat  the  little  girl,  did  it?  I  see 
you  can't  answer  me.  Now  would  you 
like  me  to  tell  you  my  story?  Some- 
thing inside  of  me  is  saying  that  I  am 
to  do  so  if  you  will  listen;  also  that 
there  is  plenty  of  time,  for  I  am  not 
wanted  at  present,  and  when  I  am  I 
can  run  to  those  gates  much  quicker 
than  you  could." 

"  I  should  like  it  very  much,  Hare. 
Once  a  prophet  heard  an  ass  speak  in 
order  to  warn  him.  But  since  then, 
except  very,  very  rarely  in  dreams,  no 
creature  has  talked  to  a  man,  so  far  as 
I  know.  Perhaps  you  wish  to  warn  me 
about  something,  or  others  through  me, 
as  the  ass  warned  Balaam." 


THE  HARE  47 

"Who  is  Balaam?  I  never  heard  of 
Balaam.  He  wasn't  the  man  who  fetches 
dead  pheasants  in  the  donkey-cart,  was 
he?  If  so,  I've  seen  him  make  the  ass 
talk — with  a  thick  stick.  No?  Well, 
never  mind,  I  daresay  I  should  not  under- 
stand about  him  if  you  told  me.  Now 
for  my  story." 

Then  the  Hare  sat  itself  down,  planting 
its  forepaws  firmly  in  front  of  it,  as  these 
animals  do  when  they  are  on  the  watch, 
looked  up  at  me  and  hegan  to  pour  the 
contents  of  its  mind  into  mine. 

I  was  born,  it  said,  or  rather  told  me  by 
thought  transference,  in  a  field  of  growing 
corn  near  to  a  big  wood.  At  least  I  sup- 
pose I  was  born  there,  though  the  first  thing 
I  remember  is  playing  about  in  the  wheat 
with  two  other  little  ones  of  my  own  size,  a 
brother  and  a  sister  that  were  born  with 
me.  It  was  at  night,  for  a  great,  round, 


48  THE  MAHATMA  AND  THE  HARE 

shining  thing  which  I  now  know  was  the 
moon,  hung  in  the  sky  above  us.  We 
gambolled  together  and  were  very  happy, 
till  presently  my  mother  came — I  remem- 
ber how  big  she  looked — and  cuffed  me 
with  her  paw  because  I  had  led  the  others 
away  from  the  place  where  she  had  told 
us  to  stop,  and  given  her  a  great  hunt 
to  find  us.  That  is  the  first  thing  I  re-, 
member  about  my  mother.  Afterwards 
she  seemed  sorry  because  she  had  hurt  me, 
and  nursed  us  all  three,  letting  me  have  the 
most  milk.  My  mother  always  loved  me 
the  best  of  us,  because  I  was  such  a  fine 
leveret,  with  a  pretty  grey  patch  on  my  left 
ear.  Just  as  I  had  finished  drinking  an- 
other hare  came  who  was  my  father.  He 
was  very  large,  with  a  glossy  coat  and  big 
shining  eyes  that  always  seemed  to  see 
everything,  even  when  it  was  behind  him. 
He  was  frightened  about  something,  and 
hustled  my  mother  and  us  little  ones  out 


THE  HARE  49 

of  the  wheat-field  into  the  big  wood  by 
which  it  is  bordered.  As  we  left  the 
field  I  saw  two  tall  creatures  that  after- 
wards I  came  to  know  were  men.  They 
were  placing  wire-netting  round  the  field — 
you  see  I  understand  now  what  all  these 
things  were,  although  of  course  I  did  not  at 
the  time.  The  two  ends  of  the  wire  netting 
had  nearly  come  together.  There  was  only 
a  little  gap  left  through  which  we  could 
run.  Another  young  hare,  or  it  may  have 
been  a  rabbit,  had  got  entangled  in  it,  and 
one  of  the  men  was  beating  it  to  death  with 
a  stick.  I  remember  that  the  sound  of  its 
screams  made  me  feel  cold  down  the  back, 
for  I  had  never  heard  anything  like  that 
before,  and  this  was  the  first  that  I  had 
seen  of  pain  and  death. 

The  other  man  saw  us  slipping  through 
and  ran  at  us  with  his  stick.  My  mother 
went  first  and  escaped  him.  Then  came 
my  sister,  then  I,  then  my  brother.  My 


50  THE  MAHATMA  AND  THE  HARE 

father  was  last  of  all.  The  man  hit  with 
his  stick  and  it  came  down  thud  along- 
side of  me,  just  touching  my  fur.  He  hit 
again  and  broke  the  foreleg  of  my  brother. 
Still  we  all  managed  to  get  through  into  the 
wood,  except  my  father  who  was  behind. 

"There's  the  old  buck!"  cried  one  of 
the  men  (I  understand  what  he  said  now, 
though  at  the  time  it  meant  nothing  to 
me).  "  Knock  him  on  the  head!  " 

So  leaving  us  alone  they  ran  at  him. 
But  my  father  was  much  too  quick  for 
them.  He  rushed  back  into  the  corn  and, 
afterwards  joined  us  in  the  wood,  for  he 
had  seen  wire  before  and  knew  how  to 
escape  it.  Still  he  was  terribly  frightened 
and  made  us  keep  in  the  wood  till  the 
following  evening,  not  even  allowing  my 
mother  to  go  to  her  form  in  the  rough 
pasture  on  its  other  side  and  lie  up  there. 

Also  we  were  in  trouble  because  my 
brother's  forepaw  was  broken.  It  gave 


THE  HARE  51 

him  a  great  deal  of  pain,  so  that  he  could 
not  rest  or  sleep.  After  a  while,  how- 
ever, it  mended  up  in  a  fashion,  but  he 
was  never  able  to  run  as  fast  as  we  could, 
nor  did  he  grow  so  big.  In  the  end  the 
mother  fox  killed  him,  as  I  shall  tell. 

My  mother  asked  my  father  what  the 
men  with  the  sticks  were  doing — for,  you 
know,  many  animals  can  talk  to  each 
other  in  their  own  way,  even  if  they  are  of 
different  kinds.  He  told  her  that  they 
were  protecting  the  wheat  to  prevent  us 
from  eating  it,  to  which  she  answered 
angrily  that  hares  must  live  somehow, 
especially  when  they  had  young  ones  to 
nurse.  My  father  replied  that  men  did 
not  seem  to  think  so,  and  perhaps  they 
had  young  ones  also.  I  see  now  that  my 
father  was  a  philosophic  hare.  But  are 
you  tired  of  my  story? 

"  Not  at  all,"  I  answered;  "  go  on, 
please.  It  is  very  interesting  to  hear  things 


52  THE  MAHATMA  AND  THE  HARE 

described  from  the  animal's  point  of  view, 
especially  when  that  animal  has  grown  wise 
and  learned  to  understand." 

"  Ah,"  answered  the  Hare.  "  I  see  what 
you  mean.  And  it  is  odd,  but  I  do  under- 
stand. All  has  become  clear  to  me.  I 
don't  know  what  happened  when  I  died, 
but  there  came  a  change,  and  I  knew  that 
I  who  was  but  a  beast  always  have  been 
and  still  am  a  necessary  part  of  every- 
thing as  much  as  you  are,  though  more 
helpless  and  humble.  Yes,  I  am  as  ancient 
and  as  far-reaching  as  yourself,  but  how  I 
began  and  how  I  shall  end  is  dark  to  me. 
Well,  I  will  go  on  with  my  story. 

It  must  have  been  a  moon  or  so  later, 
after  my  mother  had  given  up  nursing  me, 
that  I  went  to  lie  out  by  myself.  There  was 
a  big  house  on  the  hillside  overlooking  the 
sea,  and  near  to  it  were  gardens  surrounded 
by  a  wall.  Also  outside  of  this  wall  was 
another  patch  of  garden  where  cabbages 


THE  HARE  53 

grew.  I  found  a  way  to  those  cabbages  and 
kept  it  secret,  for  I  was  greedy  and  wanted 
them  all  for  myself.  I  used  to  creep  in  at 
night  and  eat  them,  also  some  flowers  with 
spiky  leaves  that  grew  round  them  which 
had  a  very  fine  flavour.  Then  after  the 
dawn  came  I  went  to  a  form  which  I  had 
made  under  a  furze  bush  on  the  slope  that 
ran  down  to  the  sea,  and  slept  there. 

One  day  I  was  awakened  by  something 
white,  hard,  and  round  which  rolled  gently 
and  stopped  still  quite  close  to  me.  It  was 
not  alive,  although  it  had  a  queer  smell,  and 
I  wondered  why  it  moved  at  all.  Presently 
I  heard  voices  and  there  appeared  a  little 
man,  and  with  him  somebody  who  was  not 
a  man  because  it  was  differently  dressed  and 
spoke  in  a  higher  voice.  I  saw  that  they 
had  sticks  in  their  hands  and  thought  of 
running  away,  then  that  it  would  be  safer 
to  lie  quite  close.  They  came  up  to  me  and 
the  little  man  said — 


54  THE  MAHATMA  AND  THE  HARE 

"There's  the  ball;  pick  it  up,  Ella,  the 
lie  is  too  bad." 

She,  for  now  I  know  it  was  what  is 
called  a  girl,  stooped  to  obey  and  saw 
my  back. 

'  Tom,"  she  said  in  a  whisper,  "  here's  a 
young  hare  on  its  form." 

"  Get  out  of  the  light,"  he  answered, 
"  and  I'll  kill  it,"  and  he  lifted  the  stick  he 
held,  which  had  a  twisted  iron  end. 

"No,"  she  said,  "catch  it  alive;  I  want 
a  hare  to  be  a  friend  to  my  rabbit,  which 
has  lost  all  its  little  ones." 

"  Lost  them?  Eaten  them,  you  mean, 
because  you  would  always  go  and  stare  at 
it,"  said  Tom.  "  Where's  the  leveret?  Oh! 
I  see.  Now,  look  out!  " 

A  moment  later  and  I  was  in  darkness. 
Tom  had  thrown  himself  upon  the  top  of 
me  and  was  grabbing  at  me  with  his  hands. 
I  nearly  got  away,  but  as  my  head  poked  up 
under  his  arm  the  girl  caught  hold  of  it. 


THE  HARE  55 

"Oh!  it's  scratching,"  she  cried,  as  in- 
deed I  was  with  all  my  might.  "  Hold  it, 
Tom,  hold  it!" 

"  Hold  it  yourself,"  said  Tom,  "  my  face 
is  full  of  furze  prickles."  So  she  held  and 
presently  he  helped  her,  till  in  the  end  I 
was  tied  up  in  a  pocket-handkerchief  and 
carried  I  knew  not  whither.  Indeed  I  was 
almost  mad  with  fear. 

When  I  came  to  myself  I  found  that  I 
was  within  a  kind  of  wire  run  which  smelt 
foully,  as  though  hundreds  of  things  had 
lived  in  it  for  years.  There  was  a  hutch  at 
the  end  of  the  run  in  which  sat  an  enormous 
she-rabbit,  quite  as  big  as  my  mother,  a 
fierce-looking  brute  with  long  yellow  teeth. 
I  was  afraid  of  that  rabbit  and  got  as  far 
from  it  as  I  could.  Presently  it  hopped 
out  and  looked  at  me. 

"What  are  you  doing  here?"  it  asked. 
"  Can't  you  talk?  Well,  it  doesn't  matter. 
If  I  get  hungry  I'll  eat  you!  Do  you  hear 


56  THE  MAHATMA  AND  THE  HARE 

that?  I'll  eat  you,  as  I  did  all  the  others," 
and  it  showed  its  big  yellow  teeth  and 
hopped  back  into  the  hutch. 

After  that  Tom  and  the  girl  came  and 
gave  us  plenty  of  food  which  the  big  rabbit 
ate,  for  I  could  touch  nothing.  For  two 
days  they  came,  and  then  I  think  they  for- 
got all  about  us.  I  grew  very  hungry,  and 
at  night  filled  myself  with  some  of  the  re- 
maining food,  such  as  stale  cabbage  leaves. 
By  next  morning  all  was  gone,  and  the  big 
rabbit  grew  hungry  also.  All  that  day  it 
hopped  about  sniffing  at  me  and  showing 
its  yellow  teeth. 

"  I  shall  eat  you  to-night,"  it  said. 

I  ran  round  and  round  the  pen  in  terror, 
till  at  last  I  found  a  place  where  rats  had 
been  working  under  the  wire,  almost  big 
enough  for  me  to  squeeze  through,  but  not 
quite. 

The  sun  went  down  and  the  big  she- 
rabbit  came  out. 


THE  HARE  57 

"  Now  I  am  going  to  eat  you,"  it  said,' 
"  as  I  ate  all  the  others.  I  am  hungry,  very 
hungry,"  and  it  prodded  me  about  with  its 
nose  and  rolled  me  over. 

At  last  with  a  little  squeal  it  drove  its 
big  yellow  teeth  into  me  behind.  Oh!  how 
they  hurt!  I  was  near  the  rat-hole.  I 
rushed  at  it,  scrabbing  and  wriggling.  The 
big  rabbit  pounced  on  me  with  its  fore-feet, 
trying  to  hold  me,  but  too  late,  for  I  was 
through,  leaving  some  of  my  fur  behind 
me.  I  ran,  how  I  ran!  without  stopping, 
till  at  length  I  found  my  mother  in  the 
rough  pasture  by  the  wood  and  told  her 
everything. 

"Ah!"  she  said,  "that's  what  comes  of 
greediness  and  of  trying  to  be  too  clever. 
Now,  perhaps,  you  will  learn  to  stop  at 
home." 

So  I  did  for  a  long  while. 

The  summer  went  by  without  anything 


58  THE  MAHATMA  AND  THE  HARE 

particular  happening,  except  that  my 
brother  with  the  lame  foot  was  eaten  by  the 
mother  fox.  That  great  red  beast  was  al- 
ways prowling  about,  and  at  night  surprised 
us  in  a  field  near  the  wood  where  we  were 
feeding  on  some  beautiful  turnips.  The 
rest  of  us  got  away,  but  my  brother  being 
lame,  was  not  quick  enough.  The  fox 
caught  him,  and  I  heard  her  sharp  white 
teeth  crunch  into  his  bones.  The  sound 
made  me  quite  sick,  and  my  mother  was 
very  sad  afterwards.  She  complained  to 
my  father  of  the  cruelty  of  foxes,  but  he, 
who,  as  I  have  said,  was  a  philosopher, 
answered  her  almost  in  her  own  words. 

"  Foxes  must  live,  and  this  one  has 
young  to  feed,  and  therefore  is  always 
hungry.  There  are  three  of  them  in  a 
hole  at  the  top  of  the  wood,"  he  re- 
marked. "  Also  our  son  was  lame  and 
wrould  certainly  have  been  caught  when 
the  hunting  begins." 


THE  HARE  59 

"What's  the  hunting?"  I  asked. 

"  Never  mind,"  said  my  father  sharply. 
"  No  doubt  you'll  find  out  in  time,  that 
is  if  you  live  through  the  shooting." 

"What's  the  shooting?"  I  began,  but 
my  father  cuffed  me  over  the  head  and 
I  was  silent. 

I  may  tell  you  that  my  mother  soon  got 
over  the  loss  of  my  brother,  for  just  about 
that  time  she  had  four  new  little  ones, 
after  which  neither  she  nor  my  father 
seemed  to  think  any  more  about  us.  My 
sister  and  I  hated  those  little  ones.  We 
two  alone  remembered  my  brother,  and 
sometimes  wondered  whether  he  were  quite 
gone  or  would  one  day  come  back.  The 
fox,  I  am  glad  to  say,  got  caught  in  a  trap. 
At  least  I  am  not  glad  now — I  was  glad 
because,  you  see,  I  was  so  much  afraid  of 
her. 


THE  SHOOTING 

I  WAS  quite  close  by  one  morning  when  the 
fox,  who  was  smelling  about  after  me,  I 
suppose  because  it  had  liked  my  brother 
so  much,  got  caught  in  the  big  trap  which 
was  covered  over  artfully  with  earth  and 
baited  with  some  stuff  which  stank  horribly. 
I  remember  it  looked  very  like  my  own 
hind-legs.  The  fox,  not  being  able  to  find 
me,  went  to  this  filth  and  tried  to  eat  it. 

Then  suddenly  there  was  a  dreadful 
fuss.  The  fox  yelped  and  flew  into  the 
air.  I  saw  that  a  great  black  thing  was 
fast  on  its  forepaw.  How  that  fox  did 
jump  and  roll!  It  was  quite  wonderful 
to  see  her.  She  looked  like  a  great  yellow 
ball,  except  for  a  lot  of  white  marks  about 
the  head,  which  were  her  teeth.  But  the 

60 


THE  SHOOTING  61 

trap  would  not  come  away,  because  it  was 
tied  to  a  root  with  a  chain. 

At  last  the  fox  grew  tired  and,  lying 
down,  began  to  think,  licking  its  paw  as 
it  thought  and  making  a  kind  of  moaning 
noise.  Next  it  commenced  gnawing  at  the 
root  after  trying  the  chain  and  finding  that 
its  teeth  would  not  go  into  it.  While  it 
was  doing  this  I  heard  the  sound  of  a  man 
somewhere  in  the  wood.  So  did  the  fox, 
and  oh!  it  looked  so  frightened.  It  lay 
down  panting,  its  tongue  hanging  out  and 
its  ears  pressed  back  against  its  head,  and 
whisked  its  big  tail  from  side  to  side.  Then 
it  began  to  gnaw  again,  but  this  time  at  its 
own  leg.  It  wanted  to  bite  it  off  and  so 
get  away.  I  thought  this  very  brave  of 
the  fox,  and  though  I  hated  it  because  it 
had  eaten  my  brother  and  tried  to  eat  me, 
I  felt  quite  sorry. 

It  was  about  half  through  its  leg  when 
the  man  came.  I  remember  that  he  had  a 


62  THE  MAHATMA  AND  THE  HARE 

cat  with  a  little  red  collar  on  its  neck,  and 
an  owl  in  his  hand,  both  of  them  dead, 
for  he  was  Giles,  the  head-keeper,  going 
round  his  traps.  He  was  a  tall  man  with 
sandy  whiskers  and  a  rough  voice,  and  he 
carried  a  single-barrelled  gun  under  his  arm. 
You  see,  now  that  I  am  dead  I  know  the 
use  of  these  things,  just  as  I  understand  all 

that  was  said,  though  of  course  at  the  time 

* 

it  had  no  meaning  for  me.  Still  I  find  that 
I  have  forgotten  nothing,  not  one  word 
from  the  beginning  of  my  life  to  the  end. 

The  keeper,  who  was  on  his  way  to  the 
place  where  he  nailed  the  creatures  he  did 
not  like  by  dozens  upon  poles,  looked 
down  and  saw  the  fox.  "  Oh!  my  beauty," 
he  said,  "  so  I  have  got  you  at  last.  Don't 
you  think  yourself  clever  trying  to  bite 
off  that  leg.  You'd  have  done  it  too,  only 
I  came  along  just  in  time.  Well,  good 
night,  old  girl,  you  won't  have  no  more 
of  my  pheasants." 


C~-A     >"  '     Q  ^ 

;  -oV-j^ 

*  '    JS    4*  ^  t  - 


"  OH  !   MY  BEAUTY/'   HE  SAID,  "  SO  I  HAVE  GOT  YOU   AT    LAS 


THE  SHOOTING  65 

Then  he  lifted  the  gun.  There  was  a 
most  dreadful  noise  and  the  fox  rolled  over 
and  lay  still. 

"  There  you  are,  all  neat  and  tidy,  my 
dear,"  said  the  keeper.  "  Now  I  must 
just  tuck  you  away  in  the  hollow  tree 
before  old  Grampus  sneaks  round  and  sees 
you,  for  if  he  should  it  will  be  almost  as 
much  as  my  place  is  worth." 

Next  he  set  his  foot  on  the  trap  and, 
opening  it,  took  hold  of  the  fox  by  the  fore- 
legs to  carry  it  off.  The  cat  and  the  owl  he 
stuffed  away  into  a  great  pocket  in  his  coat. 

"Jemima!  don't  you  wholly  stink,"  he 
said,  then  gave  a  most  awful  yell. 

The  fox  wasn't  quite  dead  after  all,  it 
was  only  shamming  dead.  At  any  rate  it 
got  Giles'  hand  in  its  mouth  and  made 
its  teeth  meet  through  the  flesh. 

Now  the  keeper  began  to  jump  about 
just  as  the  fox  had  done  when  it  set  its  paw 
in  the  trap,  shouting  and  saying  all  sorts  of 


66  THE  MAHATMA  AND  THE  HARE 

things  that  somehow  I  don't  think  I  ought 
to  repeat  here.  Round  and  round  he  went 
with  the  fox  hanging  to  his  hand,  like 
hares  do  when  they  dance  together,  for  he 
couldn't  get  it  off  anyhow.  At  last  he 
tumbled  down  into  a  pool  of  mud  and 
water,  and  when  he  got  up  again  all  wet 
through  I  saw  that  the  fox  was  really  dead. 
But  it  had  died  biting,  and  now  I  know 
that  this  pleased  it  very  much. 

It  was  just  then  that  the  man  whom  the 
keeper  had  called  Grampus  came  up.  He 
was  a  big,  fat  man  with  a  very  red  face,  who 
made  a  kind  of  blowing  noise  when  he 
walked  fast.  I  know  now  that  he  was  the 
lord  of  all  the  other  men  about  that  place, 
that  he  lived  in  the  house  which  looked  over 
the  sea,  and  that  the  boy  and  girl  who  put 
me  in  with  the  yellow-toothed  rabbit  were  his 
children.  He  was  what  the  farmers  called 
"  a  first-rate  all-round  sportsman,"  which 
means,  my  friend — but  what  is  your  name?" 


THE  SHOOTING  67 

"  Oh!  Mahatma,"  I  answered  at  hazard. 

"  Which  means,  my  friend  Mahatma,  that 
he  spent  most  of  the  year  in  killing  the 
lower  animals  such  as  me.  Yes,  he  spent 
quite  eight  months  out  of  the  twelve  in  kill- 
ing us  one  way  and  another,  for  when  there 
was  no  more  killing  to  be  done  in  his  own 
country,  he  would  travel  to  others  and  kill 
there.  He  would  even  kill  pigeons  from  a 
trap,  or  young  rooks  just  out  of  their  nests, 
or  rats  in  a  stack,  or  sparrows  among  ivy, 
rather  than  not  kill  anything.  I've  heard 
Giles  say  so  to  the  under-keeper  and  call 
him  "  a  regular  slaughterer  "  and  "  a  true- 
blood  Englishman." 

Yet,  my  friend  Mahatma,  I  say  in  the 
light  of  the  truth  which  has  come  to  me, 
that  according  to  his  knowledge  Grampus 
was  a  good  man.  Thus,  what  little  time 
he  had  to  spare  from  sport  he  passed  in 
helping  his  brother  men  by  sending  them 
to  prison.  Although  of  course  he  never 


68  THE  MAHATMA  AND  THE  HARE 

worked  or  earned  anything,  he  was  very 
rich,  because  money  flowed  to  him  from 
other  people  who  had  been  very  rich,  but 
who  at  last  were  forced  to  travel  this 
Road  and  could  not  bring  it  with  them. 
If  they  could  have  brought  it,  I  am  sure 
that  Grampus  would  never  have  got  any. 
However,  he  did  get  it,  and  he  aided 
a  great  many  people  with  that  part  of 
it  which  he  found  he  could  not  spend 
upon  himself.  He  was  a  very  good  man, 
only  he  liked  killing  us  lower  creatures, 
whom  he  bred  up  with  his  money  to  be 
killed." 

"  Go  on  with  your  story,  Hare,"  I  said; 
"  when  I  see  this  Red-faced  Man  I  will 
judge  of  him  for  myself.  Probably  you  are 
prejudiced  about  him." 

"  I  daresay  I  am,"  answered  the  Hare, 
rubbing  its  nose;  "but  please  observe  that 
I  am  not  speaking  unkindly  of  Grampus, 
although  before  I  have  done  you  may  think 


THE  SHOOTING  69 

that  I  might  have  reason  to  do  so.  How- 
ever, you  will  be  able  to  form  your  own 
opinion  when  he  comes  here,  which  I  am 
sure  he  does  not  mean  to  do  for  many,  many 
years.  The  world  is  much  too  comfortable 
for  him.  He  does  not  wish  to  leave  it." 

"  Still  he  may  be  obliged  to  do  so,  Hare." 

"  Oh!  no,  people  like  that  are  never 
obliged  to  do  anything  they  do  not  like. 
It  is  only  poor  things  such  as  you  and  I, 
Mahatma,  which  must  suffer.  I  can  see 
that  you  have  had  a  great  deal  to  bear,  and 
so  have  I,  for  we  were  born  to  suffering  as 
the  Red-faced  Man  was  born  to  happiness." 

"  Go  on  with  your  story,  Hare,"  I  re- 
peated. '  You  are  becoming  metaphysical 
and  therefore  dull.  The  time  is  short  and 
I  want  to  hear  what  happened." 

"  Quite  so,  Mahatma.  Well,  Grampus 
came  up  breathing  very  heavily  and  looking 
very  red  in  the  face.  He  held  his  hat  in 
one  hand  and  a  large  crooked  stick  in  the 


70  THE  MAHATMA  AND  THE  HARE 

other,  and  even  the  top  of  his  head,  on 
which  no  hair  grew,  was  red,  for  he  had 
been  running. 

"  What  the  deuce  is  the  matter? "  he 
puffed.  "  Oh!  it  is  you,  Giles,  is  it?  What 
are  you  doing,  sir,  looking  like  that,  all 
covered  with  blood  and  mud?  Has  a 
poacher  shot  you,  or  what? " 

"  No,  Squire,"  answered  Giles  humbly, 
touching  his  hat.  "  I  have  shot  a  poacher, 
that's  all,  and  it  has  given  me  what  for," 
and  he  lifted  the  body  of  the  fox  from 
the  water. 

"A  fox,"  said  Grampus,  "a  fox!  Do 
you  mean  to  say,  Giles,  that  you  have 
dared  to  shoot  a  fox,  and  a  vixen  with  a 
litter  too?  How  often  have  I  told  you 
that,  although  I  keep  harriers  and  not  fox- 
hounds, you  are  never  to  touch  a  fox. 
You  will  get  me  into  trouble  with  all  my 
neighbours.  I  give  you  a  month's  notice. 
You  will  leave  on  this  day  month." 


THE  SHOOTING  71 

"Very  well,  Squire,"  said  Giles,  "I'll 
leave,  and  I  hope  you'll  find  some  one  to 
serve  you  better.  Meanwhile  I  didn't 
shoot  the  dratted  fox.  At  least  I  only 
shot  her  after  she'd  gone  and  got  herself 
into  a  trap  which  I  had  set  for  that  there 
Rectory  dog  what  you  told  me  to  make  off 
with  on  the  quiet,  so  that  the  young  lady 
might  never  know  what  become  of  it  and 
cry  and  make  a  fuss  as  she  did  about  the 
last.  Then  seeing  that  she  was  finished, 
with  her  leg  half  chewed  off,  I  shot  her, 
or  rather  I  didn't  shoot  her  as  well  as  I 
should,  for  the  beggar  gave  a  twist  as  I 
fired,  and  now  she's  bit  me  right  through 
the  hand.  I  only  hopes  you  won't  have 
to  pay  my  widow  for  it,  Squire,  under  the 
Act,  as  foxes'  bites  is  uncommon  poison- 
ous, especially  when  they've  been  a-eating 
of  rotten  rabbit." 

"Dear  me!"  said  the  Red-faced  Man 
softening,  "  dear  me,  the  beast  does  seem 


72  THE  MAHATMA  AND  THE  HARE 

to  have  bitten  you  very  badly.  You  must 
go  and  be  cauterised  with  a  red-hot  iron. 
It  is  painful  but  the  best  thing  to  do. 
Meanwhile,  suck  it,  Giles,  suck  it!  I  dare- 
say that  will  draw  out  the  poison,  and  if 
it  doesn't,  thank  my  stars!  I  am  insured. 
Look  here,  a  minute  or  two  can  make  no 
difference,  for  if  you  are  poisoned,  you  are 
poisoned.  Where  can  we  put  this  brute? 
I  wouldn't  have  it  seen  for  ten  pounds." 

"  There's  an  old  pollard,  Squire,  about 
five  yards  away  down  near  the  fence,  which 
is  hollow  and  handy,"  said  Giles. 

"  Quite  so,"  he  answered,  "  I  know  it 
well.  Do  you  bring  the — dog,  Giles. 
Remember,  it  was  a  dog,  not  a  fox." 

Then  they  went  to  the  pollard,  and  as 
Giles's  hand  was  hurt  the  Red-faced  Man 
climbed  up  it,  though  Giles  tried  to  pre- 
vent him. 

"  Now  then,  Giles,"  he  said,  "  give  me 
the  fox — I  mean  the  dog,  and  I  will  drop 


THE  SHOOTING  7S 

it  down.  Great  Heavens!  how  this  tree 
stinks.  Has  there  been  an  earth  here?" 

"  Not  as  I  knows  of,  Squire,"  said  Giles 
sullenly. 

Grampus  stretched  his  hand  down  into 
the  hollow  of  the  pollard  and  dragged  up 
a  rotting  fox  by  its  tail. 

"  Giles,"  he  said,  "  you  have  been  killing 
more  foxes  and  hiding  them  in  this  tree. 
Giles,  I  dismiss  you  at  once  and  without  a 
month's  wages." 

"  All  right,  sir,"  said  Giles,  "  I'll  go,  and 
I  prays  you'll  find  some  one  what  will  keep 
your  hares  which  you  must  have,  and  your 
pheasants  which  you  must  have,  and  your 
partridges  which  you  must  have,  without 
killing  these  varmints  of  foxes  what  eats 
the  lot." 

The  Red-faced  Man  descended  from  the 
tree  holding  his  nose  and  looked  at  Giles. 
Giles  sucked  his  bleeding  hand  and  looked 
at  him. 


74  THE  MAHATMA  AND  THE  HARE 

"  Foxes  are  very  destructive  animals," 
said  the  Red-faced  Man  to  Giles,  "  especi- 
ally when  one  shoots  and  keeps  harriers." 

"  They  are  that,  sir,"  said  Giles  to  the 
Red-faced  Man,  "  as  only  those  know  what 
has  to  do  with  them." 

"  Put  the  other  in,  Giles,"  said  the  Red- 
faced  Man,"  and  when  you  have  time,  throw 
some  soil  on  to  the  top  of  the  lot.  This 
place  smells  horrible.  And  look  you  here, 
Giles,"  he  added  in  a  voice  of  thunder,  "  if 
ever  I  find  you  killing  a  fox  upon  this 
property,  you  will  be  dismissed  at  once,  as 
I  have  often  told  you  before.  Do  you 
understand? " 

"  Yes,  Squire,  I  understand,"  answered 
Giles,  "  and  I'll  see  to  the  burying  of  them 
this  same  afternoon,  if  the  pain  in  my 
hand  will  suffer  it." 

"Very  well,"  said  the  Red-faced  Man, 
"  that's  done  with — except  the  cubs.  As 
you  have  killed  the  vixen  you  had  better 


THE  SHOOTING  75 

stink  the  cubs  out  of  the  earth.  I  daresay 
they  are  old  enough  to  look  after  them- 
selves— at  any  rate  I  hope  so.  And  now, 
Giles,  we  must  shoot  some  of  these  hares 
when  we  begin  on  the  partridges  next  week. 
There  are  too  many  of  them,  the  tenants 
are  complaining,  ungrateful  beggars  as  they 
are,  seeing  that  I  keep  them  for  their  sport." 
At  this  point  I  thought  that  I  had 
heard  enough,  and  slipped  away  when 
their  backs  were  turned.  For,  friend 
Mahatma,  I  had  just  seen  a  fox  shot,  and 
now  I  knew  what  shooting  meant. 

About  a  week  later  I  knew  better  still. 
It  came  about  thus.  By  that  time  the 
turnips  I  have  mentioned,  those  that 
grew  in  the  big  field,  had  swelled  into 
fine,  large  bulbs  with  leafy  tops.  We 
used  to  eat  them  at  nights,  and  in  the 
daytime  to  lie  up  among  them  in  our 
snug  forms.  You  know,  Mahatma,  don't 


76  THE  MAHATMA  AND  THE  HARE 

you,  that  a  form  is  a  little  hollow  which 
a  hare  makes  in  the  ground  just  to  fit 
itself?  No  hare  likes  to  sleep  in  another 
hare's  form.  Do  you  understand?" 

"  Yes,"  I  answered,  "  I  understand.  It 
would  be  like  a  man  wearing  another 
man's  boots." 

"  I  don't  know  anything  about  boots,  Ma- 
hatma,  except  that  they  are  hard  things 
with  iron  on  them  which  kick  one  out  of 
one's  form  if  one  sits  too  close.  Once  that 
happened  to  me.  Well,  my  form  was 
under  a  particularly  fine  turnip  that  had 
some  dead  leaves  beneath  the  green  ones. 
I  chose  it  because,  like  the  brown  earth, 
they  just  matched  the  colour  of  my  back. 
I  was  sleeping  there  quite  soundly  when 
my  sister  came  and  woke  me. 

'  There  are  men  in  the  field,"  she  said, 
her  eyes  nearly  starting  out  of  her  head 
with  fear,  for  she  was  always  very  timid. 
"  I'm  off." 


THE  SHOOTING  77 

"Are  you?"  I  answered.  "Well,  I 
think  I  shall  stop  here  where  I  shan't  be 
noticed.  If  we  begin  jumping  over  those 
turnips  they  will  see  us." 

"  We  might  run  down  the  rows,  keep- 
ing our  ears  close  to  our  backs,"  she 
remarked. 

"  No,"  I  said,  "  there  are  too  many  bare 
patches." 

At  this  moment  a  gun  went  *  bang ' 
some  way  off;  and  my  sister,  like  a 
wise  hare,  scuttled  away  at  full  speed 
for  the  wood.  But  I  only  made  myself 
smaller  than  usual  and  lay  watching  and 
listening. 

There  was  a  good  deal  to  see  and 
hear;  for  instance,  a  covey  of  partridges, 
troublesome  birds  that  come  scratching 
and  fidgeting  about  when  one  wants  to 
sleep,  were  running  to  and  fro  in  a  great 
state  of  concern. 

"  They  are  after  us,"  said  the  old  cock. 


78  THE  MAHATMA  AND  THE  HARE 

"  I  remember  the  same  thing  last  year. 
Come  on,  do." 

"  How  can  I  with  all  these  young  ones 
to  look  after?  "  answered  the  hen.  "  Why, 
if  once  they  are  scattered  I  shall  never 
find  them  again." 

"  Just  as  you  like,  you  know  best," 
said  the  cock.  "  Goodbye,"  and  away  he 
flew,  while  his  wife  and  the  rest  ran  to  a 
little  distance,  scattered  and  squatted. 

Presently,  looking  back  over  my  shoulders 
without  turning  my  head,  as  a  hare  can, 
I  saw  a  line  of  men  walking  towards  me. 
There  was  the  Red-faced  Man  whom 
Giles  called  Grampus  behind  his  back 
and  Squire  to  his  face.  There  was  Giles 
himself,  with  his  hurt  hand  tied  up,  hold- 
ing a  kind  of  stick  with  a  slit  in  it  from 
which  hung  a  lot  of  dead  partridges  whose 
necks  were  in  the  slit.  One  of  them  was 
not  dead  or  had  come  to  life  again,  for 
it  flapped  in  the  stick  trying  to  fly  away. 


I   SAW    A   LINE    OF    MEN   WALKING  TOWARDS   ME 


THE  SHOOTING  81 

He  held  these  in  the  hand  that  was  tied 
up,  and  in  the  other,  oh,  horror!  was  a 
dead  hare  bleeding  from  its  nose.  It 
looked  uncommonly  like  my  mother,  but 
whether  it  were  or  no  I  couldn't  be  quite 
sure.  At  least  from  that  day  neither  my 
sister  nor  I  ever  saw  her  again.  I  suppose 
you  haven't  met  her  coming  up  this  big 
white  Road,  have  you,  Mahatma? " 

"  No,  no,"  I  answered  impatiently,  "  I 
have  already  told  you  that  you  are  the  first 
hare  I  have  ever  seen  upon  the  Road. 
Please  get  on  with  your  story,  or  the 
Lights  will  change  and  the  Gates  be 
opened  before  I  hear  its  end." 

Just  when  I  saw  her  I  was  thinking  of 
running  away,  but  the  sight  terrified  me 
so  much  that  I  could  not  stir.  You  see, 
Mahatma,  I  really  loved  my  mother  as 
much  as  a  hare  can  love  anything,  which 
is  a  good  deal. 

Well,   beyond   Giles   was,   who   do   you 


82  THE  MAHATMA  AND  THE  HARE 

think?  That  dreadful  boy,  Tom,  with  a 
gun  in  his  hand  too.  Did  I  say  that  they 
all  had  guns,  except  Giles  and  some  beater 
men,  only  that  Tom's  was  single-barrelled? 
Then  there  were  others  whom  I  need  not 
describe,  stretching  to  left  and  right,  and 
w^orst  of  all,  perhaps,  there  was  Giles's 
great  black  dog,  a  silly-looking  beast  which 
always  seemed  to  have  its  mouth  open  and 
its  tongue  hanging  out,  and  to  be  wagging 
a  big  tail  like  the  fox's,  only  black  and 
more  ragged. 

As  I  watched,  up  got  the  old  hen  par- 
tridge and  one  of  her  young  ones  and  flew 
towards  me.  The  Red-faced  Man  lifted 
his  gun  and  fired,  once,  twice,  and  down 
came  first  the  mother  partridge  and  then 
the  young  one.  I  forgot  to  say  that  Tom 
fired  too  at  the  old  partridge,  which  fell 
dead  quite  close  to  me,  leaving  a  lot  of 
feathers  floating  in  the  air.  As  it  fell  Tom 
screeched  out — 


THE  SHOOTING  83 

"  I  killed  that,  father." 

This  made  the  Red-faced  Man  very  angry. 

"  You  young  scoundrel,"  he  said,  "  how 
often  have  I  told  you  not  to  shoot  at  my 
birds  under  my  nose?  No  sportsman 
shoots  at  another  man's  birds,  and  as  for 
killing  it,  you  were  yards  under  the  thing. 
If  you  do  it  again  I  will  send  you  home." 

"  Sorry,  father,"  said  Tom,  adding  in  a 
low  voice  with  a  snigger,  "  I  did  kill  it  after 
all.  Dad  thinks  no  one  can  hit  a  partridge 
except  himself." 

Just  then  up  jumped  my  father  near  to 
Giles,  and  came  leaping  in  front  of  the 
Red-faced  Man  about  twenty  yards  away 
from  him. 

"Mark  hare!"  shouted  Giles,  and 
Grampus,  who  was  still  glowering  at  Tom 
and  had  not  quite  finished  pushing  the 
cartridges  into  his  gun,  shut  it  up  in  a 
hurry  and  fired  first  one  barrel  and  then 
the  other.  But  my  father,  who  was  very 


84  THE  MAHATMA  AND  THE  HARE 

cunning,  jumped  into  the  air  at  the  first 
shot  and  ducked  at  the  second,  so  that  he 
was  missed;  at  least  I  suppose  that  is  why 
he  was  missed. 

Giles  grinned  and  the  Red-faced  Man 
said,  "  Damn!  "  What  does  '  damn  '  mean, 
Mahatma?  It  was  a  very  favourite  word 
with  the  Red-faced  Man  but  even  now  I 
can't  quite  understand  it." 

"  Nor  can  I,"  I  answered.     "  Go  on." 

"  Well,  my  poor  father  next  ran  in  front 
of  Tom,  who  shot  too  and  hit  him  in 
the  hind  legs  so  that  he  rolled  over  and 
over  in  the  turnips,  kicking  and  scream- 
ing. Have  you  ever  heard  a  hare  scream, 
Mahatma? " 

"  Yes,  yes,  it  makes  a  horrid  noise  like  a 
baby." 

*  Wiped  your  eye  that  time,  Dad,"  cried 
Tom  in  an  exultant  voice. 

"  I  don't  know  about  wiping  my  eye," 
answered  his  father,  turning  quite  purple 


THE  SHOOTING  85 

with  rage,  "  but  I  wish  you  would  be  good 
enough,  Thomas,  not  to  shoot  my  hares 
behind,  so  that  they  make  that  beastly 
row  which  upsets  me"  (I  think  that  the 
Red-faced  Man  was  really  kind  at  the 
bottom)  "  and  spoils  them  for  the  market. 
If  you  can't  hit  a  hare  in  front,  miss  it 
like  a  gentleman." 

"  As  you  do,  Dad,"  said  Tom,  sniggering 
again.  "All  right,  I'll  try." 

"  Giles,"  roared  Grampus,  pretending 
not  to  hear,  "  send  your  dog  and  fetch  that 
hare.  I  can't  bear  its  screeching." 

So  the  great  black  dog  rushed  forward 
and  caught  my  poor  father  in  its  big  mouth, 
although  he  tried  to  drag  himself  away  on 
his  front  paws,  and  after  that  I  shut  my 
eyes. 

Then  a  lot  of  partridges  got  up  and 
there  was  any  amount  of  banging,  though 
most  of  them  were  missed.  This  made 
the  Red-faced  Man  angrier  than  ever.  He 


86  THE  MAHATMA  AND  THE  HARE 

took  off  his  hat  and  waved  it,  bellowing — 

"  Call  back  that  brute  of  a  dog  of  yours, 
Giles.  Call  it  back  at  once  or  I'll  shoot  it." 

So  Giles  called,  "  Nigger.  Come  you 
'ere,  Nigger!  Nigg,  Nigg,  Nigg!" 

But  Nigger  rushed  about  putting  up 
partridges  all  over  the  place,  while  Gram- 
pus stamped  and  shouted  and  every  one 
missed  everything,  till  at  last  Tom  sat  down 
on  the  turnips  and  roared  with  laughter. 

At  length,  after  Giles  had  beaten  Nigger 
till  he  broke  a  stick  over  him,  making 
him  howl  terribly,  order  was  restored,  and 
the  line  having  reformed,  began  to  march 
down  on  me.  For,  Mahatma,  I  was  so 
frightened  by  what  had  happened  to  my 
father,  and  I  think  my  mother,  that  I 
didn't  remember  what  he,  I  mean  my  dead 
father,  had  told  me,  always  to  run  away 
when  there  is  a  chance,  as  poor  hares  can 
only  protect  themselves  by  flight. 

So  as  I  had  lost  the  chance  I  thought 


THE  SHOOTING  87 

that  I  would  just  sit  tight,  hoping  that  they 
would  not  see  me.  Nor  indeed  would  they 
if  it  hadn't  been  for  that  horrible  Tom. 

During  the  confusion  the  mother  par- 
tridge which  the  Red-faced  Man  had  shot 
had  been  forgotten  by  everybody  except 
Tom.  Tom,  you  see,  was  certain  that  he  had 
shot  it  himself,  being  a  very  obstinate  boy, 
and  was  determined  to  retrieve  it  as  his  own. 

Now  that  partridge  had  fallen  within  a 
yard  of  me,  with  its  beak  and  claws  point- 
ing to  the  sky,  and  when  the  line  had 
passed  where  we  lay  Tom  lagged  behind 
to  look  for  it.  He  did  not  find  it  then, 
whether  he  ever  found  it  afterwards  I  am 
sure  I  don't  know.  But  he  found  me. 

"By  Jove!  here's  a  hare,"  he  said,  and 
made  a  grab  at  me  just  as  he  had  done  in 
the  furze  bush. 

Well,  I  went.  Tom  shot  when  I  wasn't 
more  than  four  yards  from  him,  and  the 
whole  charge  passed  like  a  bullet  between 


88  THE  MAHATMA  AND  THE  HARE 

my  hind  legs  and  struck  the  ground  under 
my  stomach,  sending  up  such  a  shower  of 
earth  and  stones  that  I  was  knocked  right 
over. 

"I've  hit  it!"  yelled  Tom,  as  he 
crammed  another  cartridge  into  his  single- 
barrelled  gun. 

By  the  time  that  it  was  loaded  I  was 
quite  thirty  yards  away  and  going  like  the 
wind.  Tom  lifted  the  gun. 

"Don't  shoot!"  roared  the  Red-faced 
Man. 

"Mind  that  there  boy!"  bellowed  Giles. 

I  was  running  down  between  two  rows 
of  turnips  and  presently  butted  into  a  lad 
who  was  bending  over,  I  suppose  to  pick 
up  a  partridge.  At  any  rate  his  tail — do 
you  call  it  his  tail,  Mahatma? " 

"  That  will  do,"  I  answered. 

"  Well,  his  tail  was  towards  me;  it  looked 
very  round  and  shiny.  The  shot  from 
Tom's  gun  hit  it  everywhere.  I  wish  they 


THE  SHOOTING  89 

had  all  gone  into  it,  but  as  he  was  so  far 
away  the  charge  scattered  and  six  of  the 
bullets  struck  me.  Oh!  they  did  hurt. 
Put  your  hand  on  my  back,  Mahatma,  and 
you  will  feel  the  six  lumps  they  made 
beneath  the  grey  tufts  of  hair  that  grew 
over  them,  for  they  are  still  there." 

Forgetting  that  we  were  on  the  Road, 
I  stretched  out  my  hand;  but,  of  course, 
it  went  quite  through  the  hare,  although 
I  could  see  the  six  little  grey  tufts  clearly 
enough. 

"You  are  foolish,  Hare;  you  don't  re- 
member that  your  body  is  not  here  but 
somewhere  else." 

"  Quite  true,  Mahatma.  If  it  were  here 
I  could  not  be  talking  to  you,  could  I? 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  have  no  body  now. 
It  is — oh,  never  mind  where.  Still,  you 
can  see  the  grey  tufts,  can't  you?  Well, 
I  only  hope  that  those  shot  hurt  that  fat 
boy  half  as  much  as  they  did  me.  No,  I 


90  THE  MAHATMA  AND  THE  HARE 

don't  mean  that  I  hope  it  now,  I  used  to 
hope  it. 

My  goodness!  didn't  he  screech,  much 
worse  than  my  father  when  his  legs  were 
broken?  And  didn't  everybody  else  roar 
and  shout,  and  didn't  I  dance?  Off  I  went 
right  over  the  fat  boy,  who  had  tumbled 
down,  up  to  the  end  of  the  field,  then  so 
bewildered  was  I  with  shock  and  the  burn- 
ing pain,  back  again  quite  close  to  them. 

But  now  nobody  shot  at  me  because  they 
all  thought  the  boy  was  killed  and  were 
gathered  round  him  looking  very  solemn. 
Only  I  saw  that  the  Red-faced  Man  had 
Tom  by  the  neck  and  was  kicking  him 
hard. 

After  that  I  saw  no  more,  for  I  ran 
five  miles  before  I  stopped,  and  at  last  lay 
down  in  a  little  swamp  near  the  seashore 
to  which  my  mother  had  once  taken  me. 
My  back  was  burning  like  fire,  and  I  tried 
to  cool  it  in  the  soft  slush. 


THE  COURSING 

QUITE  a  moon  went  by  before  I  recovered 
from  Tom's  shot.  At  first  I  thought  that 
I  was  going  to  die,  for,  although  luckily 
none  of  my  bones  were  broken,  the  pain  in 
my  back  was  dreadful.  When  I  tried  to 
ease  the  agony  by  rubbing  against  roots  it 
only  became  worse,  for  the  fur  fell  off, 
leaving  sores  upon  which  flies  settled.  I 
could  scarcely  eat  or  sleep,  and  grew  so 
thin  that  the  bones  nearly  poked  through 
my  pelt.  Indeed  I  wanted  very  much  to 
die,  but  could  not.  On  the  contrary,  by 
degrees  I  recovered,  till  at  last  I  was  quite 
strong  again  and  like  other  hares,  except 
for  the  six  little  grey  tufts  upon  my  back 
and  one  hole  through  my  right  ear. 

Now  all  this  while  I  had  lived  in  the 

91 


92  THE  MAHATMA  AND  THE  HARE 

swamp  near  the  sea,  but  when  my  strength 
returned  I  thought  of  my  old  home,  to 
which  something  seemed  to  draw  me. 
Also  there  were  no  turnips  near  the 
swamp,  and  as  the  winter  came  on  I  found 
very  little  to  eat  there.  So  one  day,  or 
rather  one  night,  I  travelled  back  home. 

As  it  happened  the  first  hare  that  I  met 
near  the  big  wood  was  my  sister.  She  was 
very  glad  to  see  me,  although  she  had  for- 
gotten how  we  came  to  part,  and  when  I 
spoke  of  our  father  and  mother  these  did 
not  seem  to  interest  her.  Still  from  that 
time  forward  we  lived  together  more  or 
less  till  her  end  came. 

One  day — this  was  after  we  had  made  our 
home  in  the  big  wood,  as  hares  often  do 
in  winter — there  was  a  great  disturbance. 
When  we  tried  to  go  out  to  feed  at  day- 
light we  found  little  fires  burning  every- 
where, and  near  to  them  boys  who  beat 
themselves  and  shouted.  So  we  went  back 


THE  COURSING  93 

into  the  wood,  where  the  pheasants  were 
running  to  and  fro  in  a  great  state  of  mind. 

Some  hours  later,  when  the  sun  was  quite 
high,  men  began  to  march  about  and  scores 
of  shots  were  fired  a  long  way  off,  also  a 
wounded  cock-pheasant  fell  near  to  us  and 
fluttered  away,  making  a  queer  noise  in  its 
throat.  It  looked  very  funny  stumbling 
along  on  one  leg  with  its  beak  gaping  and 
two  of  the  long  feathers  in  its  tail  broken. 

"  I  know  what  this  is,"  I  said  to  my  sister. 
"  Let's  be  gone  before  they  shoot  us.  I've 
had  enough  of  being  shot." 

So  off  we  went,  rushing  past  a  boy  by 
his  fire,  who  yelled  and  threw  a  stick  at  us. 
But  as  it  happened,  on  the  borders  of  the 
property  of  the  Red-faced  Man  there  were 
poachers  who  knew  that  hares  would  come 
out  of  the  wood  on  this  day  of  the  shooting 
and  had  made  ready  for  us  by  setting  wire 
nooses  in  the  gaps  of  the  hedges  through 
which  we  ran.  I  got  my  foot  into  one  of 


94  THE  MAHATMA  AND  THE  HARE 

these  but  managed  to  shake  it  off.  My 
sister  was  not  so  lucky,  for  her  head  went 
into  another  of  them.  She  kicked  and 
tore,  but  the  more  she  struggled  the 
tighter  drew  the  noose. 

I  watched  her  for  a  little  while  until  one 
of  the  poachers  ran  up  with  a  stick. 

Then  I  went  away,  as  I  could  not  bear  to 
see  her  beaten  to  death,  and  that  was  the 
end  of  my  sister.  So  now  I  was  the  only 
one  left  alive  of  our  family,  except  perhaps 
some  younger  brothers  whom  I  did  not 
know,  though  I  think  it  was  one  of  these 
that  afterwards  I  saw  shot  quite  dead 
by  Giles.  He  went  over  and  over  and 
lay  as  still  as  though  he  had  never  moved 
in  all  his  life.  Death  seems  a  very  won- 
derful thing,  Mahatma,  but  I  won't  ask 
you  what  it  is  because  I  perceive  that 
you  can't  answer. 

After  this  nothing  happened  to  me  for  a 
long  while.    Indeed  I  had  the  best  time  of 


THE  COURSING  95 

my  life  and  grew  very  strong  and  big,  yes, 
the  strongest  and  biggest  hare  of  any  that  I 
ever  saw,  also  the  swiftest  of  foot.  Twice  I 
was  chased  by  dogs;  once  by  Giles's  black 
beast,  Nigger,  and  once  by  that  of  a  shep- 
herd. Finding  that  I  could  run  right  away 
from  them  without  exerting  myself  at  all, 
I  grew  to  despise  dogs.  Ah!  little  did  I 
know  then  that  there  are  many  different 
breeds  of  these  animals. 

One  day  in  mid-winter,  as  the  weather 
was  very  mild  and  open,  I  was  lying  on  the 
rough  grass  field  that  I  have  spoken  of 
which  borders  a  flat  stretch  of  moorland. 
On  this  moorland  in  summer  grew  tall 
ferns,  but  now  these  had  died  and  been 
broken  down  by  the  wind.  Suddenly  I 
woke  up  from  my  sleep  to  see  a  number 
of  men  walking  and  riding  towards  me. 

They  were  tenants  and  others  who,  al- 
though the  real  coursing  season  had  not 
yet  begun  in  our  neighbourhood,  had  been 


96  THE  MAHATMA  AND  THE  HARE 

asked  by  Grampus  to  come  to  try  their 
greyhounds  upon  his  land.  Those  of  them 
who  walked  for  the  most  part  held  two 
long,  lean  dogs  on  a  string,  while  one 
or  two  carried  dead  hares.  They  were 
dreadful-looking  hares  that  seemed  to  have 
been  bitten  all  over;  at  least  their  coats 
were  wet  and  broken.  I  shivered  at  the 
sight  of  them,  feeling  sure  that  I  was  going 
to  be  put  to  some  new  kind  of  torture. 

Besides  the  men  on  foot  were  those  on 
horseback,  among  whom  I  recognised  the 
Red-faced  Man  and  my  enemy,  the  dread- 
ful Tom.  Most  of  the  others  were  people 
called  farmers,  who  seemed  very  happy  and 
excited  and  from  time  to  time  drank  some- 
thing out  of  little  bottles  which  they  passed 
to  each  other.  Giles  was  not  there.  Now 
I  know  that  this  was  because  he  hated 
coursing,  which  killed  down  hares.  Hares, 
he  thought,  ought  to  be  shot,  not  coursed. 

Whilst  I   watched,   wondering  what  to 


THE  COURSING  97 

do,  there  was  a  shout  of  "  There  she 
goes! "  and  all  the  long  dogs  began  to  pull 
at  their  strings.  Off  the  necks  of  two  of 
them  the  collars  seemed  to  fall,  and  away 
they  leapt  pursuing  a  hare.  The  men 
on  the  horses  galloped  after  them,  but  the 
men  on  foot  remained  where  they  were. 

Now  I  was  afraid  to  get  up  and  run  lest 
they  should  loose  the  other  dogs  on  me, 
so  I  lay  still,  till  presently  I  saw  the  hare 
coming  back  towards  me,  followed  by  the 
two  dogs  whose  noses  almost  touched  its 
tail.  It  was  exhausted  and  tried  to  twist 
and  spring  away  to  the  right.  But  as  it  did 
so  one  of  the  dogs  caught  it  in  its  mouth 
and  bit  it  till  it  died. 

"  That  was  a  rotten  hare,"  said  Tom, 
who  cantered  up  just  then,  "  it  gave  no 
course  at  all." 

"Yes,"  puffed  Grampus.  "Hope  the 
next  one  will  show  better  sport." 

"  Hope  so  too,"  answered  Tom,  "  espe- 


98  THE  MAHATMA  AND  THE  HARE 

cially  as  it  is  Jack  and  Jill's  turn  to  be 
slipped,  and  they  are  the  best  greyhounds 
for  twenty  miles  round." 

Then  the  Red-faced  Man  gave  some  or- 
ders and  Jack  and  Jill  were  brought  for- 
ward by  the  man  whose  business  it  was  to 
slip  the  dogs.  One  of  them  was  black  and 
one  yellow;  I  think  Jack  was  the  black  one 
— a  dreadful,  sneaking-looking  beast  with 
a  white  tip  to  its  tail,  which  ended  in  a 
sort  of  curl. 

"  Forward  now,"  said  Grampus,  "  and 
go  slow.  There's  sure  to  be  another  puss 
or  two  in  this  rough  grass." 

Next  second  I  was  up  and  away,  and 
before  you  could  count  twelve  Jack  and 
Jill  were  after  me.  I  saw  them  standing 
on  their  hind  legs  straining  at  the  cord. 
Then  the  collars  fell  from  them  and  they 
leapt  forward  like  the  light.  My  thought 
was  to  get  back  to  the  wood,  which  was 
about  a  minute's  run  behind  me,  but  I  did 


THE  COURSING  99 

not  dare  to  turn  and  head  for  it  because  of 
the  long  line  of  people  through  which  I 
must  pass  if  I  tried  to  do  so.  So  I  ran 
straight  for  the  moorland,  hoping  to  turn 
there  and  reach  the  wood  on  its  other  side, 
although  this  meant  a  long  journey. 

For  a  while  all  went  well  with  me,  and 
having  a  good  start  I  began  to  hope  that  I 
should  outrun  these  beasts,  as  I  had  the 
shepherd's  dog  and  the  retriever.  But  I 
did  not  know  Jack  and  Jill.  Just  as  I 
reached  the  borders  of  the  moor  I  heard  the 
patter  of  their  feet  behind  me,  and  looking 
back  saw  them  coming  up,  about  as  far 
away  as  I  was  from  Tom  when  he  shot  me. 

They  were  running  quite  close  together 
and  behind  them  galloped  the  judge  and 
other  men.  There  was  a  fence  here  and  I 
bolted  through  a  hole  in  it.  The  grey- 
hounds jumped  over  and  for  a  moment  lost 
sight  of  me,  for  I  had  turned  and  run 
down  near  the  side  of  the  fence.  But  Tom, 


100    THE  MAHATMA  AND  THE  HARE 

who  had  come  through  a  gap,  saw  me 
and  waved  his  arm  shouting,  and  next 
instant  Jack  and  Jill  saw  me  too. 

Then  as  the  going  was  rough  by  the 
fence  I  took  to  the  open  moor,  always  try- 
ing, however,  to  work  round  to  the  left  in 
the  hope  that  I  might  win  the  shelter  of 
the  wood. 

On  we  went  like  the  wind,  and  now  Jack 
and  Jill  were  quite  close  behind  me,  though 
before  they  got  there  I  had  managed  to 
circle  so  that  at  last  my  head  pointed  to 
the  wood,  which  was  more  than  half  a  mile 
away.  Their  speed  was  greater  than  mine, 
and  I  knew  that  I  must  soon  be  caught. 

At  last  they  were  not  more  than  two 
yards  behind,  and  for  the  first  time  I 
twisted  so  that  they  overshot  me,  which 
gave  me  another  start.  Three  times  they 
came  up  and  three  times  I  wrenched  or 
twisted.  The  wood  was  not  so  far  away 
now,  but  I  was  almost  spent. 


THE  COURSING    ,./  101 

What  was  I  to  do!  What  was  T  to  do! 
I  saw  a  clump  of  furze  to  the  left,  a  big 
clump  and  thick,  and  remembered  that 
there  was  a  hare's  run  through  it.  I 
reached  it  just  as  Jill  was  on  the  top  of 
me,  and  once  more  they  lost  sight  of  me  for 
a  while  as  they  ran  round  the  clump  staring 
and  jumping.  When  they  saw  me  again  on 
the  further  side  I  was  thirty  yards  ahead  of 
them  and  the  wood  was  perhaps  two  hun- 
dred and  fifty  yards  away.  But  now  I 
could  only  run  more  slowly,  for  my  heart 
seemed  to  be  bursting,  though  luckily  Jack 
and  Jill  were  getting  tired  also.  Still  they 
soon  came  up,  and  now  I  must  twist  every 
few  yards,  or  be  caught  in  their  jaws. 

I  can't  tell  you  what  I  felt,  Mahatma, 
and  until  you  have  been  hunted  by  grey- 
hounds you  will  never  know.  It  was  hor- 
rible. Yet  I  managed  to  twist  and  jump 
so  that  always  Jack  and  Jill  just  missed 
me.  The  farmers  on  the  horses  laughed? 
to  see  my  desperate  leaps  and  wrenches. 


102     THE  MAHATMA  AND  THE  HARE 

But  Tom  did  worse  than  laugh.  Noting 
that  I  was  getting  quite  near  the  wood,  he 
rode  between  me  and  it,  trying  to  turn  me 
into  the  open,  for  he  wished  to  see  me 
killed. 

"Don't  do  that!  It  isn't  sportsman- 
like," shouted  the  Red-faced  Man.  "  Give 
the  poor  beast  a  chance." 

I  don't  know  whether  he  obeyed  or  not, 
as  just  then  I  made  my  last  double,  and 
felt  Jill's  teeth  cut  through  the  fur  of  my 
scut  and  heard  them  snap.  I  had  dodged 
Jill,  but  Jack  was  right  on  to  me  and  the 
wood  still  twenty  yards  away. 

I  could  not  twist  any  more,  it  was  just 
which  of  us  could  get  there  first.  I  gathered 
all  my  remaining  strength,  for  I  was  mad, 
mad  with  terror,  and  bounded  forward. 

After  me  came  Jack,  I  felt  his  hot  breath 
on  my  flank.  I  jumped  the  ditch,  yes,  I 
found  power  to  jump  that  ditch  where 
there  was  a  rabbit  run  just  by  the  trunk  of 


I  MADE   MY   LAST  DOUBLE 


THE  COURSING  105 

a  young  oak.  Jack  jumped  after  me;  we 
must  both  have  been  in  the  air  at  the  same 
time.  But  I  got  through  the  rabbit  run, 
whereas  Jack  hit  his  sharp  nose  against  the 
trunk  of  the  tree  and  broke  his  neck.  Yes, 
he  fell  dead  into  the  ditch. 

I  crawled  on  a  few  yards  to  a  thick 
clump  and  squatted  down,  for  I  could  not 
stir  another  inch.  So  it  came  about  that  I 
heard  them  all  talking  on  the  other  side. 

One  of  them  said  I  was  the  finest  hare  he 
had  ever  coursed.  Others,  who  had  dragged 
Jack  out  of  the  ditch,  lamented  his  death, 
especially  the  owner,  who  vowed  that  he  was 
worth  £50  and  abused  Tom.  Tom,  he  said, 
had  caused  him  to  be  killed — I  don't  know 
how,  but  I  suppose  because  he  had  ridden 
forward  and  tried  to  turn  me.  The  Red- 
faced  Man  also  scolded  Tom.  Then  he 
added — 

"  Well,  I  am  glad  she  got  off,  for  she'll 
give  us  a  good  run  with  the  harriers  one 


106     THE  MAHATMA  AND  THE  HARE 

day.  I  shall  always  know  that  hare  again 
by  the  white  marks  on  its  back;  also  it  is 
the  biggest  I  have  seen  for  a  long  while. 
Come  on,  my  friends,  the  dog  is  dead  and 
there's  an  end  of  it.  At  least  we  have  had 
a  good  morning's  sport,  so  let's  go  to  the 
Hall  and  get  some  lunch." 

The  Hare  paused  for  a  little,  then  looked 
up  at  me  in  its  comical  fashion  and  asked — 

"  Did  you  ever  course  hares,  Mahatma? " 

"  Not  I,  thank  goodness,"  I  answered. 
'  Well,  what  do  you  think  of  coursing? " 

"  I  would  rather  not  say,"  I  replied. 

"  Then  I  will,"  said  the  Hare,  with  con- 
viction. "  I  think  it  horrible." 

"  Yes,  but,  Hare,  you  do  not  remember 
the  pleasure  this  sport  gives  to  the  men 
and  the  dogs;  you  look  at  it  from  an  en- 
tirely selfish  point  of  view." 

"  And  so  would  you,  Mahatma,  if  you 
had  felt  Jack's  hot  breath  on  your  back 
and  Jill's  teeth  in  your  tail." 


THE  HUNTING 

THE  Hare  sat  silent  for  a  time,  while 
I  employed  myself  in  watching  certain' 
shadows  stream  past  us  on  the  Great 
White  Road.  Among  them  was  that  of 
a  politician  whom  I  had  much  admired 
upon  the  earth.  In  this  land  of  Truth 
I  was  grieved  to  observe  certain  char- 
acteristics about  him  which  I  had  never 
before  suspected.  It  seemed  to  me,  alas! 
that  in  his  mundane  career  he  had  not 
been  so  entirely  influenced  by  a  single- 
hearted  desire  for  the  welfare  of  our  coun- 
try as  he  had  proclaimed  and  I  had  be- 
lieved. I  gathered  even  that  his  own  in- 
terests had  sometimes  inspired  his  policy. 

He  went  by,  leaving,  so  far  as  I  was 
concerned,  a  somewhat  painful  impression 

107 


108     THE  MAHATMA  AND  THE  HARE 

from  which  I  sought  relief  in  the  company 
of  the  open-souled  Hare. 

"Well,"  I  said,  "I  suppose  that  you 
died  of  exhaustion  after  your  coursing  ex- 
perience, and  came  on  here." 

"  Died  of  exhaustion,  Mahatma,  not  a 
bit  of  it!  In  three  days  I  was  as  well  as 
ever,  only  much  more  cunning  than  I  had 
been  before.  In  the  night  I  fed  in  the 
fields  upon  whatever  I  could  get,  but  in 
the  daytime  I  always  lay  up  in  woods. 
This  I  did  because  I  found  out  the  shoot- 
ing was  over,  and  I  knew  that  greyhounds, 
which  run  by  sight,  would  never  come  into 
woods. 

The  weeks  went  by  and  the  days  began 
to  lengthen.  Pretty  yellow  flowers  that 
I  had  not  seen  before  appeared  in  the 
woods,  and  I  ate  plenty  of  them;  they 
have  a  nice  flavour.  Then  I  met  another 
hare  and  loved  her,  because  she  reminded 
me  of  my  sister.  We  used  to  play  about 


THE  HUNTING  109 

together  and  were  very  happy.     I  wonder 
what  she  will  do  now  that  I  am  gone." 

"  Console  herself  with  somebody  else," 
I  suggested  sarcastically. 

"  No,  she  won't  do  that,  Mahatma,  be- 
cause the  hounds  '  chopped '  her  just 
outside  the  Round  Plantation.  I  mean 
they  caught  and  ate  her.  You  think  that 
I  am  contradicting  myself,  but  I  am  not. 
I  mean  I  wonder  what  she  will  do  without 
me  in  whatever  world  she  has  reached,  for 
I  don't  see  her  here.  Well,  I  went  to  the 
little  Round  Plantation  because  I  found 
that  Giles  seldom  came  there  and  I  thought 
it  would  be  safer,  but  as  it  proved  I  made  a 
great  mistake.  One  day  there  appeared 
the  Red-faced  Man  and  Tom  and  the  girl, 
Ella,  and  a  lot  of  other  people  mounted  on 
horses,  some  of  them  dressed  in  green  coats 
with  ridiculous-looking  caps  on  their  heads. 

Also  with  them  were  I  don't  know  how 
many  spotted  dogs  whose  tails  curled  over 


110    THE  MAHATMA  AND  THE  HARE 

their  backs,  not  like  greyhounds  whose  tails 
curl  between  their  legs.  Outside  of  the 
Plantation  those  dogs  caught  and  ate  my 
future  wife,  as  I  have  said.  It  was  her 
own  fault,  for  I  had  warned  her  not  to 
go  there,  but  she  was  a  very  self-willed 
character.  As  it  was  she  never  even  gave 
them  a  run,  for  they  were  all  round  her  in  a 
minute.  Then  they  made  a  kind  of  cart- 
wheel ;  their  heads  were  in  the  centre  of  this 
cartwheel  and  their  tails  pointed  out.  In 
its  exact  middle  was  my  future  wife. 

When  the  wheel  broke  up  there  was 
nothing  of  her  left  except  her  scut,  which 
lay  upon  the  ground. 

I  had  seen  so  many  of  such  things  that 
I  was  not  so  much  shocked  as  you  might 
suppose.  After  all  a  fine  hare  like  myself 
could  always  get  another  wife,  and  as  I 
have  told  you  she  was  very  self-willed. 

So  I  lay  still,  thinking  that  those  men 
and  dogs  would  go  away. 


THE  HUNTING  111 

But  what  do  you  think,  Mahatma? 
Just  as  they  were  going  the  boy  Tom 
called  out — 

"  I  say,  Dad,  I  think  we  might  as  well 
knock  through  the  Round  Plantation. 
Giles  tells  me  that  the  old  speckle-backed 
buck  lies  up  here." 

"Does  he?"  said  Grampus.  "Well,  if 
so,  that's  the  hare  I  want  to  see,  for  I  know 
he'd  give  us  a  good  run.  Here,  Jerry " 
(Jerry  was  the  huntsman),  "just  put  the 
hounds  into  that  place." 

So  Jerry  put  the  hounds  in,  making 
dreadful  noises  to  encourage  them,  and  of 
course  I  came  out,  as  I  did  not  wish  to 
share  the  fate  of  my  future  wife. 

"That's  him!"  screeched  Tom.  "Look 
at  the  grey  marks  on  his  back." 

"  Yes,  that's  he  right  enough,"  shouted 
the  Red-faced  Man.  "  Lay  them  on,  Jerry, 
lay  them  on;  we're  in  for  a  rattling  run 
now,  I'll  warrant." 


THE  MAHATMA  AND  THE  HARE 

So  they  were  laid  on  and  I  went 
away  as  hard  as  my  legs  would  carry 
me.  Very  soon  I  found  that  I  had  left 
all  those  curly-tailed  dogs  a  long  way 
behind. 

"  Ah!  "  I  said  to  myself  proudly,  "  these 
beasts  are  not  greyhounds;  they  are  like 
Giles's  retriever  and  the  sheep  dog.  They'll 
never  see  me  again."  So  I  loped  along 
saving  my  breath  and  heading  for  a  wood 
which  was  quite  five  miles  off  that  I 
had  once  visited  from  the  Marsh  on  the 
sea-shore  where  I  lay  sick,  for  I  was 
sure  they  would  never  follow  me  there. 

You  can  imagine,  then,  Mahatma,  how 
surprised  I  was  when  I  drew  near  that 
wood  to  hear  a  hideous  noise  of  dogs 
all  barking  together  behind  me,  and  on 
looking  back,  to  see  those  spotted  brutes, 
with  their  tongues  hanging  out,  coming 
along  quite  close  to  each  other  and  not 
more  than  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away. 


THE  HUNTING  113 

Moreover  they  were  coming  after  me. 
I  was  sure  of  that,  for  the  first  of  them 
kept  setting  its  nose  to  the  ground  just 
where  I  had  run,  and  then  lifting  up  its 
head  to  bay.  Yes,  they  were  coming  on 
my  scent.  They  could  smell  me  as  Giles's 
curly  dog  smells  the  wounded  partridges. 
My  heart  sank  at  the  thought,  but  presently 
I  remembered  that  the  wood  was  quite 
close,  and  that  there  I  should  certainly 
give  them  the  slip. 

So  I  went  on  quite  cheerfully,  not  even 
running  as  fast  as  I  could.  But  fortune 
was  against  me,  as  everything  has  always 
been,  for  I  never  found  a  friend.  I  ran 
along  the  side  of  a  hedgerow  which  went 
quite  up  to  the  wood,  not  knowing  that 
at  the  end  of  it  three  men  were  engaged 
in  cutting  down  an  oak  tree.  You  see, 
Mahatma,  they  had  caught  sight  of  the 
hunt  and  stopped  from  their  work,  so  that 
I  did  not  hear  the  sound  of  their  axes 


THE  M  AH  ATM  A  AND  THE  HARE 

upon  the  tree.  Nor,  as  my  head  was  so 
near  the  ground,  did  I  see  them  until  I 
was  right  on  to  them,  at  which  moment 
also  they  saw  me. 

"Here  she  is!"  yelled  one  of  them. 
"  Keep  her  out  of  covert  or  they'll  lose 
her,"  and  he  threw  out  his  arms  and  hegan 
to  jump  about,  as  did  the  other  two. 

I  pulled  up  short  within  three  or  four 
yards  of  them.  Behind  were  the  dogs  and 
the  people  galloping  upon  horses  and  in 
front  were  the  three  men.  What  was  I 
to  do?  Now  I  had  stopped  exactly  in  a 
gateway,  for  a  lane  ran  alongside  the  wood. 
After  a  moment's  pause  I  bolted  through 
the  gateway,  thinking  that  I  would  get 
into  the  wood  beyond.  But  one  of  the 
men,  who  of  course  wanted  to  see  me 
killed,  was  too  quick  for  me  and  there 
headed  me  again. 

Then  I  lost  my  senses.  Instead  of 
running  on  past  him  and  leaping  into  the 


"  HERE   SHE  IS!  "  YELLED  ONE   OF  THEM 


THE  HUNTING  117 

wood,  I  swung  right  round  and  rushed 
back,  still  clinging  to  the  hedgerow.  In- 
deed as  I  went  down  one  side  of  it  the 
hounds  and  the  hunters  came  up  on  the 
other,  so  that  there  were  only  a  few  sticks 
between  us,  though  fortunately  the  wind 
was  blowing  from  them  to  me.  Fearing 
lest  they  should  see  me  I  jumped  into 
the  ditch  and  ran  for  quite  two  hundred 
yards  through  the  mud  and  water  that  was 
gathered  there.  Then  I  had  to  come  out 
of  it  again  as  it  ended,  but  here  was  a  fall 
in  the  ground,  so  still  I  was  not  seen. 

Meanwhile  the  hunt  had  reached  the 
three  men  and  I  heard  them  all  talking 
together.  The  end  of  it  was  that  the  men 
explained  which  way  I  had  gone,  and  once 
more  the  hounds  were  laid  on  to  me.  In  a 
minute  they  got  to  where  I  had  entered 
the  ditch,  and  there  grew  confused  because 
my  footmarks  did  not  smell  in  the  water. 
For  quite  a  long  time  they  looked  about 


118     THE  MAHATMA  AND  THE  HARE 

till  at  length,  taking  a  wide  cast,  the 
hounds  found  my  smell  again  at  the  end  of 
the  ditch. 

During  this  check  I  was  making  the 
best  of  my  way  back  towards  my  own 
home;  indeed  had  it  not  been  for  it  I 
should  have  been  caught  and  torn  to  pieces 
much  sooner  than  I  was.  Thus  it  happened 
that  I  had  covered  quite  three  miles  before 
once  more  I  heard  those  hounds  baying 
behind  me.  This  was  just  as  I  got  on 
to  the  moorland,  at  that  edge  of  it  which 
is  about  another  three  miles  from  the 
great  house  called  the  Hall,  which  stands 
on  the  top  of  a  cliff  that  slopes  down  to 
the  beach  and  the  sea. 

I  had  thought  of  making  for  the  other 
wood,  that  in  which  I  had  saved  myself 
from  the  greyhounds  when  the  beast  Jack 
broke  its  neck  against  the  tree,  but  it 
was  too  far  off,  and  the  ground  was  so 
open  that  I  did  not  dare  to  try. 


THE  HUNTING  119 

So  I  went  straight  on,  heading  towards 
the  cliff.  Another  mile  and  they  viewed 
me,  for  I  heard  Tom  yell  with  delight  as 
he  stood  up  in  his  stirrups  on  the  black  cob 
he  was  riding  and  waved  his  cap.  Jerry 
the  huntsman  also  stood  up  in  his  stirrups 
and  waved  his  cap,  and  the  last  awful  hunt 
began. 

I  ran — oh!  how  I  ran.  Once  when  they 
were  nearly  on  me  I  managed  to  check 
them  for  a  minute  in  a  hollow  by  getting 
among  some  sheep.  But  they  soon  found 
me  again,  and  came  after  me  at  full  tear 
not  more  than  a  hundred  yards  behind.  In 
front  of  me  I  saw  something  that  looked 
like  walls  and  bounded  towards  them  with 
my  last  strength.  My  heart  was  bursting, 
my  eyes  and  mouth  seemed  to  be  full  of 
blood,  but  the  terror  of  being  torn  to  pieces 
still  gave  me  power  to  rush  on  almost  as 
quickly  as  though  I  had  just  been  put 
off  my  form.  For  as  I  have  told  you, 


120     THE  MAHATMA  AND  THE  HARE 

Mahatma,  I  am,  or  rather  was  a  very 
strong  and  swift  hare. 

I  reached  the  walls;  there  was  an  open 
doorway  in  them  through  which  I  fled,  to 
find  myself  in  a  big  garden.  Two  gardeners 
saw  me  and  shouted  loudly.  I  flew  on 
through  some  other  doors,  through  a  yard, 
and  into  a  passage  where  I  met  a  woman 
carrying  a  pail,  who  shrieked  and  fell  on  to 
her  back.  I  jumped  over  her  and  got  into 
a  big  room,  where  was  a  long  table  covered 
with  white  on  which  were  all  sorts  of  things 
that  I  suppose  men  eat.  Out  of  that  room 
I  went  into  yet  another,  where  a  fat  woman 
with  a  hooked  nose  was  seated  holding 
something  white  in  front  of  her.  I  bolted 
under  the  thing  on  which  she  was  seated 
and  lay  there.  She  saw  me  come  and  be- 
gan to  shriek  also,  and  presently  a  most 
terrible  noise  arose  outside. 

All  the  spotted  dogs  were  in  the  house, 
baying  and  barking,  and  everybody  was 


"  THE    DOGS   RUSHED    ABOUT 


THE  HUNTING  123 

yelling.  Then  for  a  minute  the  dogs 
stopped  their  clamour,  and  I  heard  a  great 
clatter  of  things  breaking  and  of  teeth 
crunching  and  of  the  Red-faced  Man 
shouting — 

"  Those  cursed  brutes  are  eating  the 
hunt  lunch.  Get  them  out,  Jerry,  you 
idiot!  Get  them  out.  Great  heavens! 
what's  the  matter  with  her  Ladyship? 
Is  any  one  murdering  her? " 

I  suppose  that  they  couldn't  get  them 
out,  or  at  least  when  they  did  they  all 
came  into  the  other  room  where  I  was 
under  the  seat  on  which  the  fat  woman 
was  now  standing. 

"What  is  it,  mother?"  I  heard  Tom 
say. 

"An  animal!"  she  screamed.  "An 
animal  under  the  sofa!  " 

"All  right,"  he  said,  "that's  only  the 
hare.  Here,  hounds,  out  with  her,  hounds!" 

The  dogs  rushed  about,  some  of  them 


THE  MAHATMA  AND  THE  HARE 

with  great  lumps  of  food  still  in  their 
mouths.  But  they  were  confused,  and  all 
went  into  the  wrong  places.  Everything 
began  to  fall  with  dreadful  crashes,  the  fat 
woman  shrieked  piercingly,  and  her  shriek 
was — 

"  China!  Oh!  my  china-a.  John,  you 
wretch!  Help!  Help!  Help!" 

To  which  the  Red-faced  Man  roared  in 
answer — 

"  Don't  be  an  infernal  fool,  Eliza-a.  I 
say,  don't  be  such  an  infernal  fool." 

Also  there  were  lots  of  other  noises 
that  I  cannot  remember,  except  one  which 
a  dog  made. 

This  silly  dog  had  thrust  its  head  up 
the  hole  over  a  fire  such  as  the  stops 
make  outside  the  coverts  when  men  are 
going  to  shoot,  either  to  hide  something 
or  to  look  for  me  there.  When  it  came 
down  again  because  the  Red-faced  Man 
kicked  it,  the  dog  put  its  paws  into  the 


THE  HUNTING  125 

fire  and  pulled  it  all  out  over  the  floor. 
Also  it  howled  very  beautifully.  Just 
then  another  hound,  that  one  which 
generally  led  the  pack,  began  to  sniff 
about  near  me  and  finally  poked  its  nose 
under  the  stuff  which  hid  me. 

It  jumped  back  and  bayed,  whereon 
I  jumped  out  the  other  side.  Tom 
made  a  rush  at  me  and  knocked  the  fat 
woman  off  the  thing  she  was  standing 
on,  so  that  she  fell  among  the  dogs,  which 
covered  her  up  and  began  to  sniff  her 
all  over.  Flying  from  Tom  I  found  my- 
self in  front  of  something  filmy,  beyond 
which  I  saw  grass.  It  looked  suspicious, 
but  as  nothing  in  the  world  could  be  so 
bad  as  Tom,  no,  not  even  his  dogs,  I 
jumped  at  it. 

There  was  a  crash  and  a  sharp  point 
cut  my  nose,  but  I  was  out  upon  the  grass. 
Then  there  were  twenty  other  crashes, 
and  all  the  hounds  were  out  too,  for  Tom 


126   THE  MAHATMA  AND  THE  HARE 

had  cheered  them  on.  I  ran  to  the  edge 
of  the  lawn  and  saw  a  steep  slope  lead- 
ing to  the  sands  and  the  sea.  Now  I 
knew  what  the  sea  was,  for  after  Tom 
had  shot  me  in  the  back  I  lived  by  it 
for  a  long  while,  and  once  swam  across  a 
little  creek  to  get  to  my  form,  from 
which  it  cut  me  off. 

While  I  ran  down  that  slope  fast  as 
my  aching  legs  would  carry  me,  I  made 
up  my  mind  that  I  would  swim  out  into 
the  sea  and  drown  there,  since  it  is 
better  to  drown  than  to  be  torn  to 
pieces.  But  why  are  you  laughing,  friend 
Mahatma?" 

"  I  am  not  laughing,"  I  said.  "  In  this 
state,  without  a  body,  I  have  nothing  to 
laugh  with.  Still  you  are  right,  for  you 
see  that  I  should  be  laughing  if  I  could. 
Your  story  of  the  stout  lady  and  the  dogs 
and  the  china  is  very  amusing." 

"  Perhaps,  friend,  but  it  did  not  amuse 


THE  HUNTING  127 

me.  Nothing  is  amusing  when  one  is 
going  to  be  eaten  alive." 

"  Of  course  it  isn't,"  I  answered. 
"  Please  forgive  me  and  go  on." 

"Well,  I  tumbled  down  that  cliff, 
followed  by  some  of  the  dogs  and  Tom 
and  the  girl  Ella  and  the  huntsman  Jerry 
on  foot,  and  dragged  myself  across  the 
sands  till  I  came  to  the  lip  of  the  sea. 

Just  here  there  was  a  boat  and  by  it 
stood  Giles  the  keeper.  He  had  come 
there  to  get  out  of  the  way  of  the  hunt- 
ing, which  he  hated  as  much  as  he  did 
the  coursing.  The  sight  of  him  settled 
me — into  the  sea  I  went.  The  dogs 
wanted  to  follow  me,  but  Jerry  called  and 
whipped  them  off. 

"  I  won't  have  them  caught  in  the 
current  and  drowned,"  he  said.  "  Let 
the  flea-bitten  old  devil  go,  she's  brought 
trouble  enough  already." 

"  Help  me  shove  off  the  boat,   Giles," 


128   THE  MAHATMA  AND  THE  HARE 

shouted  Tom.  "She  shan't  beat  us;  we 
must  have  her  for  the  hounds.  Come  on, 
Ella." 

"  Best  leave  her  alone,  Master  Tom," 
said  Giles.  "  I  think  she's  an  unlucky  one, 
that  I  do." 

Still  the  end  of  it  was  that  he  helped 
to  float  the  little  boat  and  got  into  it 
with  Tom  and  Ella. 

Just  after  they  had  pushed  off  I  saw  a 
man  running  down  the  steps  on  the  cliff 
waving  his  arms  while  he  called  out 
something.  But  of  him  they  took  no 
heed.  I  do  not  think  they  noticed  him. 
As  for  me,  I  swam  on. 

I  could  not  go  very  fast  because  I  was 
so  dreadfully  tired;  also  I  did  not  like 
swimming,  and  the  cold  waves  broke  over 
my  head,  making  the  cut  in  my  nose  smart 
and  filling  my  eyes  with  something  that 
stung  them.  I  could  not  see  far  either, 
nor  did  I  know  where  I  was  going.  I 


"MY!  ISN'T  SHE  A  BEAUTY?" 


THE  HUNTING  131 

knew  nothing  except  that  I  was  about 
to  die,  and  that  soon  everything  would  be 
at  an  end;  men,  dogs — everything,  yes, 
even  Tom.  I  wanted  things  to  come  to 
an  end.  I  had  suffered  so  dreadfully,  life 
was  so  horrible,  I  was  so  very  tired.  I 
felt  that  it  was  better  to  die  and  have  done. 

So  I  swam  on  a  long  way  and  began 
to  forget  things;  indeed  I  thought  that  I 
was  playing  in  the  big  turnip  field  with 
my  mother  and  sister.  But  just  as  I  was 
sinking  exhausted  a  hand  shot  down  into 
the  water  and  caught  me  by  the  ears, 
although  from  below  the  fingers  looked  as 
though  they  were  bending  away  from  me. 
I  saw  it  coming  and  tried  to  sink  more 
quickly,  but  could  not. 

"  I've  got  her,"  said  the  voice  of  Tom 
gleefully.  "My!  isn't  she  a  beauty? 
Over  nine  pounds  if  she  is  an  ounce. 
Only  just  in  time,  though,"  he  went 
on,  "for,  look!  she's  drowning;  her  head 


132    THE  MAHATMA  AND  THE  HARE 

wobbles  as  though  she  were  sea-sick. 
Buck  up,  pussie,  buck  up!  You  mustn't 
cheat  the  hounds  at  last,  you  know.  It 
wouldn't  be  sportsmanlike,  and  they  hate 
dead  hares." 

Then  he  held  me  by  my  hind  legs  to 
drain  the  water  out  of  me,  and  afterwards 
began  to  blow  down  my  nose,  I  did  not 
know  why. 

"  Don't  do  that,  Tom,"  said  Ella  sharply. 
"  It's  nasty." 

"  Must  keep  the  life  in  her  some- 
how," answered  Tom,  and  went  on 
blowing. 

"  Master  Tom,"  interrupted  Giles,  who 
was  rowing  the  boat,  "  I  ain't  particular, 
but  I  wish  you'd  leave  that  there  hare 
alone.  Somehow  I  thinks  there's  bad  news 
in  its  eye.  Who  knows?  P'raps  the  little 
devil  feels.  Any  way,  it's  a  rum  one,  it's 
swimming  out  to  sea.  I  never  see'd  a 
hunted  hare  do  that  afore." 


THE  HUNTING  133 

"Bosh!"  said  Tom,  and  continued  his 
blowing. 

We  reached  the  shore  and  Tom  jumped 
out  of  the  boat,  holding  me  by  the  ears. 
The  hounds  were  all  on  the  beach, 
most  of  them  lying  down,  for  they  were 
very  tired,  but  the  men  were  standing 
in  a  knot  at  a  distance  talking  earnestly. 
Tom  ran  to  the  hounds,  crying  out— 

"  Here  she  is,  my  beauties,  here  she 
is!"  whereon  they  got  up  and  began  to 
bay.  Then  he  held  me  above  them. 

"  Master  Tom,"  I  heard  Jerry's  voice 
say,  "  for  God's  sake  let  that  hare  go  and 
listen,  Master  Tom,"  and  the  girl  Ella, 
who  of  a  sudden  had  begun  to  sob,  tried  to 
pull  him  back. 

But  he  was  mad  to  see  me  bitten  to 
death  and  eaten,  and  until  he  had  done  so 
would  attend  to  no  one.  He  only  shouted, 

"One — two — three!  Now,  hounds! 
Worry,  worry,  worry!" 


134   THE  MAHATMA  AND  THE  HARE 

Then  he  threw  me  into  the  air  above 
the  red  throats  and  gnashing  teeth  which 
leapt  up  towards  me. 

The  Hare  paused,  but  added,  "  Did  you 
tell  me,  friend  Mahatma,  that  you  had 
never  been  torn  to  pieces  by  hounds, 
*  broken  up,'  I  believe  they  call  it? " 

'  Yes,  I  did,"  I  answered,  "  and  what 
is  more  I  shall  be  obliged  if  you  will  not 
dwell  upon  the  subject." 


THE  COMING  OF  THE  RED- 
FACED  MAN 

"  As  you  like,"  said  the  Hare.  "  Certainly 
it  was  very  dreadful.  It  seemed  to  last  a 
long  time.  But  I  don't  mind  it  so  much 
now,  for  I  feel  that  it  can  never  happen  to 
me  again.  At  least  I  hope  it  can't,  for  I 
don't  know  what  I  have  done  to  deserve 
such  a  fate,  any  more  than  I  know  why  it 
should  have  happened  to  me  once." 

"  Something  you  did  in  a  previous  exist- 
ence, perhaps,"  I  answered.  "  You  see  then 
you  may  have  hunted  other  creatures  so 
cruelly  that  at  last  your  turn  came  to 
suffer  what  you  had  made  them  suffer.  I 
often  think  that  because  of  what  we  have 
done  before  we  men  are  also  really  being 
hunted  by  something  we  cannot  see." 

135 


136   THE  MAHATMA  AND  THE  HARE 

"Ah!"  exclaimed  the  Hare,  "I  never 
thought  of  that.  I  hope  it  is  true,  for  it 
makes  things  seem  juster  and  less  wicked. 
But  I  say,  friend  Mahatma,  what  am  I 
doing  here  now,  where  you  tell  me  poor 
creatures  with  four  feet  never,  or  hardly 
ever  come? " 

"  I  don't  know,  Hare.  I  am  not  wise, 
to  whom  it  is  only  granted  to  visit  the 
Road  occasionally  to  search  for  some 


one." 


"  I  understand,  Mahatma,  but  still  you 
must  know  a  great  deal  or  you  would  not 
be  allowed  in  such  a  place  before  your  time, 
or  at  any  rate  you  must  be  able  to  guess  a 
great  deal.  So  tell  me,  why  do  you  think 
that  I  am  here?  " 

"  I  can't  say,  Hare,  I  can't  indeed.  Per- 
haps after  the  Gates  are  open  and  your 
Guardian  has  given  you  to  drink  of  the 
Cup,  you  will  go  to  sleep  and  wake  up 
again  as  something  else." 


THE  RED-FACED  MAN  137 

"To  drink  of  the  cup,  Mahatma?  I 
don't  drink;  at  least  I  didn't,  though  I 
can't  tell  what  may  happen  here.  But  what 
do  you  mean  about  waking  up  as  some- 
thing else?  Please  be  more  plain.  As 
what  else?  " 

"Oh!  who  can  know?  Possibly  as  you 
are  on  the  human  Road  you  might  even 
become  a  man  some  day,  though  I  should 
not  advise  you  to  build  on  such  a  hope 
as  that." 

'  What  do  you  say,  Mahatma?  A  man! 
One  of  those  two-legged  beasts  that  hunt 
hares;  a  thing  like  Giles  and  Tom — yes, 
Tom?  Oh!  not  that— not  that!  I'd 
almost  rather  go  through  everything  again 
than  become  a  cruel,  torturing  man." 

As  it  spoke  thus  the  Hare  grew  so  dis- 
turbed that  it  nearly  vanished;  literally  it 
seemed  to  melt  away  till  I  could  only  per- 
ceive its  outline.  With  a  kind  of  shock  I 
comprehended  all  the  horror  that  it  must 


138   THE  MAHATMA  AND  THE  HARE 

feel  at  such  a  prospect  as  I  had  suggested 
to  it,  and  really  this  grasping  of  the  truth 
hurt  my  human  pride.  It  had  never  come 
home  to  me  before  that  the  circumstances 
of  their  lives — and  deaths — must  cause 
some  creatures  to  see  us  in  strange  lights. 

"  Oh!  I  have  no  doubt  I  was  mistaken," 
I  said  hurriedly,  "  and  that  your  wishes  on 
the  point  will  be  respected.  I  told  you 
that  I  know  nothing." 

At  these  words  the  Hare  became  quite 
visible  again. 

It  sat  up  and  very  reflectively  began  to 
rub  its  still  shadowy  nose  with  a  shadowy 
paw.  I  think  that  it  remembered  the  sting 
of  the  salt  water  in  the  cut  made  by  the 
glass  of  the  window  through  which  it  had 
sprung. 

Believing  that  its  remarkable  story  was 
done,  and  that  presently  it  would  altogether 
melt  away  and  vanish  out  of  my  knowledge, 
I  looked  about  me.  First  I  looked  above 


THE  RED-FACED  MAN  139 

the  towering  Gates  to  see  whether  the 
Lights  had  yet  begun  to  change.  Then 
as  they  had  not  I  looked  down  the  Great 
White  Road,  following  it  for  miles  and 
miles,  until  even  to  my  spirit  sight  it  lost 
itself  in  the  Nowhere. 

Presently  coming  up  this  Road  towards 
us  I  saw  a  man  dressed  in  a  green  coat, 
riding-breeches  and  boots  and  a  peaked 
cap,  who  held  in  his  hand  a  hunting-whip. 
He  was  a  fine-looking  person  of  middle 
age,  with  a  pleasant,  open  countenance, 
bright  blue  eyes,  and  very  red  cheeks,  on 
which  he  wore  light-coloured  whiskers.  In 
short  a  jovial-looking  individual,  with 
whom  things  had  evidently  always  gone 
well,  one  to  whom  sorrow  and  disappoint- 
ment and  mental  struggle  were  utter 
strangers.  He,  at  least,  had  never  known 
what  it  is  to  "  endure  hardness "  in  all 
his  life. 

Studying  his  nature  as  one  can  do  on 


140    THE  MAHATMA  AND  THE  HARE 

the  Road,  I  perceived  also  that  in  him 
there  was  no  guile.  He  was  a  good- 
minded,  God-fearing  man  according  to  his 
simple  lights,  who  had  done  many  kind- 
nesses and  contributed  liberally  towards  the 
wants  of  the  poor,  though  as  he  had  been 
very  rich,  it  had  cost  him  little  thus  to 
gratify  the  natural  promptings  of  his  heart. 
Moreover  he  was  what  Jorsen  calls  a 
"  young  soul,"  quite  young  indeed,  by 
which  I  mean  that  he  had  not  often  walked 
the  Road  in  previous  states  of  life,  as  for 
instance  that  Eastern  woman  had  done 
who  accosted  me  before  the  arrival  of  the 
Hare.  So  to  speak  his  crude  nature  had 
scarcely  outgrown  the  primitive  human 
condition  in  which  necessity  as  well  as 
taste  makes  it  customary  and  pleasant  to 
men  to  kill;  that  condition  through  which 
almost  every  boy  passes  on  his  way  to 
manhood,  I  suppose  by  the  working  of 
some  secret  law  of  reminiscence. 


THE  RED-FACED  MAN 

It  was  this  thought  that  first  led  me 
to  connect  the  new-comer  with  the  Red- 
faced  Man  of  the  Hare's  story.  It  may 
seem  strange  that  I  should  have  been  so 
dense,  but  the  truth  is  that  it  never 
occurred  to  me,  any  more  than  it  had 
done  to  the  Hare,  that  such  a  person 
would  be  at  all  likely  to  tread  the  Road 
for  many  years  to  come.  I  had  gathered 
that  he  was  comparatively  young,  and 
although  I  had  argued  otherwise  with  the 
Hare,  had  concluded  therefore  that  he 
would  continue  to  live  his  happy  earth  life 
until  old  age  brought  him  to  a  natural  end. 
Hence  my  obtuseness. 

The  man  was  drifting  towards  me 
thoughtfully,  evidently  much  bewildered  by 
his  new  surroundings  but  not  in  the  least 
afraid.  Indeed  there  none  are  afraid; 
when  they  glide  from  their  death-beds  to 
the  Road  they  leave  fear  behind  them  with 
the  other  terrors  of  our  mortal  lot. 


THE  MAHATMA  AND  THE  HARE 

Presently  he  became  conscious  of  the 
presence  of  the  Hare,  and  thoughts  passed 
through  his  mind  which  of  course  I  could 
read. 

"  My  word!  "  he  said  to  himself,  "  things 
are  better  than  I  hoped.  There's  a  hare, 
and  where  there  are  hares  there  must  be 
hunting  and  shooting.  Oh!  if  only  I  had 
a  gun,  or  the  ghost  of  a  gun! " 

Then  an  idea  struck  him.  He  lifted  his 
hunting-crop  and  hurled  it  at  the  Hare. 

As  it  was  only  the  shadow  of  a  crop 
of  course  it  could  hurt  nothing.  Still  it 
went  through  the  shadow  of  the  Hare  and 
caused  it  to  twist  round  like  lightning. 

"  That  was  a  good  shot  anyway,"  he 
reflected,  with  a  satisfied  smile. 

By  now  the  Hare  had  seen  him. 

"The  Red-faced  Man!"  it  exclaimed, 
"  Grampus  himself! "  and  it  turned  to  flee 
away. 

"Don't   be    frightened,"    I    cried,    "he 


THE  RED-FACED  MAN  143 

can't  hurt  you;  nothing  can  hurt  you  here." 

The  Hare  halted  and  sat  up.  "  No,"  it 
said,  "  I  forgot.  But  you  saw,  he  tried  to. 
Now,  Mahatma,  you  will  understand  what 
a  blood-thirsty  brute  he  is.  Even  after  I 
am  dead  he  has  tried  to  kill  me  again." 

"Well,  and  why  not?"  interrupted  the 
Man.  "  What  are  hares  for  except  to  be 
killed?" 

'  There,  Mahatma,  you  hear  him.  Look 
at  me,  Man,  who  am  I?" 

So  he  looked  at  the  Hare  and  the  Hare 
looked  at  him.  Presently  his  face  grew 
puzzled. 

"By  Jingo!"  he  said  slowly,  "you  are 
uncommonly  like — you  are  that  accursed 
witch  of  a  hare  which  cost  me  my  life. 
There  are  the  white  marks  on  your  back, 
and  there  is  the  grey  splotch  on  your  ear. 
Oh!  if  only  I  had  a  gun — a  real  gun! " 

'  You  would  shoot  me,  wouldn't  you,  or 
try  to?"  said  the  Hare.  "Well,  you 


144   THE  MAHATMA  AND  THE  HARE 

haven't  and  you  can't.  You  say  I  cost  you 
your  life.  What  do  you  mean?  It  was  my 
life  that  was  sacrificed,  not  yours." 

"  Indeed,"  answered  the  Man,  "  I  thought 
you  got  away.  Never  saw  any  more  of 
you  after  you  jumped  through  the  French 
window.  Never  had  time.  The  last  thing 
I  remember  is  her  Ladyship  screaming  like 
a  mad  cockatoo,  yes,  and  abusing  me  as 
though  I  were  a  pickpocket,  writh  the 
drawing-room  all  on  fire.  Then  some- 
thing happened,  and  down  I  went  among 
the  broken  china  and  hit  my  head  against 
the  leg  of  a  table.  Next  came  a  kind  of 
whirling  blackness  and  I  woke  up  here." 

"  A  fit  or  a  stroke,"  I  suggested. 

"Both,  I  think,  sir.  The  fit  first— I 
have  had  'em  before,  and  the  stroke  after- 
wards— against  the  leg  of  the  table.  Any- 
way they  finished  me  between  them,  thanks 
to  that  little  beast." 

Then  it  was  that  I  saw  a  very  strange 


THE  RED-FACED  MAN  145 

thing,  a  hare  in  a  rage.  It  seemed  to  go 
mad,  of  course  I  mean  spiritually  mad. 
Its  eyes  flashed  fire;  it  opened  its  mouth 
and  shut  it  after  the  fashion  of  a  suffocat- 
ing fish.  At  last  it  spoke  in  its  own  way 
— I  cannot  stop  to  explain  in  further 
detail  the  exact  manner  of  speech  or  rather 
of  its  equivalent  upon  the  Road. 

"  Man,  Man,"  it  exclaimed,  "  you  say  that 
I  finished  you.  But  what  did  you  do  to 
me?  You  shot  me.  Look  at  the  marks 
upon  my  back.  You  coursed  me  with  your 
running  dogs.  You  hunted  me  with  your 
hounds.  You  dragged  me  out  of  the  sea 
into  which  I  swam  to  escape  you  by  death, 
and  threw  me  living  to  the  pack,"  and  the 
Hare  stopped  exhausted  by  its  own  fury. 

"  Well,"  replied  the  Man  coolly,  "  and 
suppose  I,  or  my  people,  did,  what  of  it? 
Why  shouldn't  I  ?  You  were  a  beast,  I  was 
a  man  with  dominion  over  you.  You  can 
read  all  about  that  in  the  Book  of  Genesis." 


146   THE  MAHATMA  AND  THE  HARE 

"  I  never  heard  of  the  Book  of  Genesis," 
said  the  Hare,  "  but  what  does  dominion 
mean?  Does  this  Book  of  Genesis  say 
that  it  means  the  right  to  torment  that 
which  is  weaker  than  the  tormentor?  " 

"  All  you  animals  were  made  for  us  to 
eat,"  commented  the  Man,  avoiding  an 
answer  to  the  direct  question. 

"  Very  good,"  answered  the  Hare,  "  let 
us  suppose  that  we  were  given  you  to  eat. 
Was  it  in  order  to  eat  me  that  you  came 
out  against  me  with  guns,  then  with  dogs 
that  run  by  sight,  and  then  with  dogs  that 
run  by  smell? " 

"  If  you  were  to  be  killed  and  eaten,  why 
should  you  not  be  killed  in  one  of  these 
ways,  Hare? " 

"  Why  should  I  be  killed  in  those  ways, 
Man,  when  others  more  merciful  were  to 
your  hand?  Indeed,  why  should  I  be  killed 
at  all?  Moreover,  if  you  wished  to  satisfy 
your  hunger  with  my  body,  why  at  the 


THE  RED-FACED  MAN  147 

last  was  I  thrown  to  the  dogs  to  devour? " 

"  I  don't  quite  know,  Hare.  Never 
looked  at  the  matter  in  that  light  before. 
But — ah!  I've  got  you  now,"  he  added 
triumphantly.  "  If  it  hadn't  been  for  me 
you  never  would  have  lived.  You  see  I 
gave  you  the  gift  of  life.  Therefore,  instead 
of  grumbling,  you  should  be  very  much 
obliged  to  me.  Don't  you  understand?  I 
preserved  hares,  so  that  without  me  you 
would  never  have  been  a  hare.  Isn't  that 
right,  Mr. — Mr. —  I  am  sorry  I  have 
forgotten  your  name,"  he  added,  turning 
towards  me. 

"  Mahatma,"  I  said. 

"  Oh!  yes,  I  remember  it  now — Mr. — ah 
-Mr.  Hatter." 

"  There  is  something  in  the  argument," 
I  replied  cautiously,  "  but  let  us  hear  our 
friend's  answer." 

"  Answer — my  answer!  Well,  here  it  is. 
What  are  you,  Man,  who  dare  to  say  that 


148   THE  M  AH  ATM  A  AND  THE  HARE 

you  give  life  or  withhold  it?  You  a  Lord  of 
life,  you!  I  tell  you  that  I  know  little,  yet 
I  am  sure  that  you  or  those  like  you  have 
no  more  power  to  create  life  than  the  world 
we  have  left  has  to  bid  the  stars  to  shine. 
If  the  life  must  come,  it  will  come,  and  if  it 
cannot  fulfil  itself  as  a  hare,  then  it  will 
appear  as  something  else.  If  you  say  that 
you  create  life,  I,  the  poor  beast  which 
you  tortured,  tell  you  that  you  are  a  pre- 
sumptuous liar." 

'  You  dare  to  lecture  me,"  said  the 
Man,  "  me,  the  heir  of  all  the  ages,  as 
the  poet  called  me.  Why,  you  nasty  little 
animal,  do  you  know  that  I  have  killed 
hundreds  like  you,  and,"  he  added,  with 
a  sudden  afflatus  of  pride,  "  thousands  of 
other  creatures,  such  as  pheasants,  to  say 
nothing  of  deer  and  larger  game?  That 
has  been  my  principal  occupation  since  I 
was  a  boy.  I  may  say  that  I  have  lived 
for  sport;  got  very  little  else  to  show  for 
my  life,  so  to  speak." 


THE  RED-FACED  MAN  149 

"  Oh!  "  said  the  Hare,  "  have  you?  Well, 
if  I  were  you,  I  shouldn't  boast  about  it 
just  now.  You  see,  we  are  still  outside 
of  those  Gates.  Who  knows  but  that  you 
will  find  every  one  of  the  living  things 
you  have  amused  yourself  by  slaughtering 
waiting  for  you  within  them,  each  praying 
for  justice  to  its  Maker  and  your  own?  " 

"My  word!"  said  the  Man,  "what  a 
horrible  notion;  it's  like  a  bad  dream." 

He  reflected  a  little,  then  added,  "  Well, 
if  they  do,  I've  got  my  answer.  I  killed 
them  for  food;  man  must  live.  Millions 
of  pheasants  are  sold  to  be  eaten  every 
year  at  a  much  smaller  price  than  they 
cost  to  breed.  What  do  you  say  to  that, 
Mr.  Hatter?  Finishes  him,  I  think." 

"  I'm  not  arguing,"  I  replied.  "  Ask  the 
Hare." 

"  Yes,  ask  me,  Man,  and  although  you 
are  repeating  yourself,  I'll  answer  with 
another  question,  knowing  that  here  you 


150    THE  MAHATMA  AND  THE  HARE 

must  tell  the  truth.  Did  you  really  rear 
us  all  for  food?  Was  it  for  this  that  you 
kept  your  keepers,  your  running  dogs 
and  your  hunting  dogs,  that  you  might 
kill  poor  defenceless  beasts  and  birds  to 
fill  men's  stomachs?  If  this  was  so,  I  have 
nothing  more  to  say.  Indeed,  if  our 
deaths  or  sufferings  at  their  hands  really 
help  men  in  any  way,  I  have  nothing  more 
to  say.  I  admit  that  you  are  higher  and 
stronger  than  we  are,  and  have  a  right  to 
use  us  for  your  own  advantage,  or  even  to 
destroy  us  altogether  if  we  harm  you." 

The  Man  pondered,  then  replied  sul- 
lenly— 

"  You  know  very  well  that  it  was  not 
so.  I  did  not  rear  up  pheasants  and  hares 
merely  to  eat  them  or  that  others  might 
eat  them.  Something  forces  me  to  tell 
you  that  it  was  in  order  that  I  might 
enjoy  myself  by  showing  my  skill  in 
shooting  them,  or  to  have  the  pleasure 


THE  RED-FACED  MAN  151 

and  exercise  of  hunting  them  to  death. 
Still,"  he  added  defiantly,  "  I  who  am  a 
Christian  man  maintain  that  my  religion 
perfectly  justified  me  in  doing  all  these 
things,  and  that  no  blame  attaches  to  me 
on  this  account." 

"  Very  good,"  said  the  Hare,  "  now 
we  have  a  clear  issue.  Friend  Mahatma, 
when  those  Gates  open  presently  what 
happens  beyond  them? " 

"  I  don't  know,"  I  answered,  "  I  have 
never  been  there;  at  least  not  that  I  can 
remember." 

"  Still,  friend  Mahatma,  is  it  not  said 
that  yonder  lives  some  Power  which  judges 
righteously  and  declares  what  is  true  and 
what  is  false? " 

"  I  have  heard  so,  Hare." 
'  Very  well,  Man,  I  lay  my  cause  be- 
fore that   Power — do   you  the   same.      If 
I  am  wrong  I  will  go  back  to  earth  to 
be  tortured  by  you  and  yours  again,     If, 


152    THE  MAHATMA  AND  THE  HARE 

however,  I  am  right,  you  shall  abide  the 
judgment  of  the  Power,  and  I  ask  that 
It  will  make  of  you — a  hunted  hare!" 

Now  when  he  heard  these  awful  words — 
for  they  were  awful,  no  less — the  Red- 
faced  Man  grew  much  disturbed.  He 
hummed  and  he  hawed,  and  shifted  his 
feet  about.  At  last  he  said — 

"  You  must  admit  that  while  you  lived 
you  had  a  first-class  time  under  my  pro- 
tection. Lots  of  turnips  to  eat  and  so 
forth." 

"  A  first-class  time!  "  the  Hare  answered 
with  withering  scorn.  '  What  sort  of  a 
time  would  you  have  had  if  some  one  had 
shot  you  all  over  the  back  and  you  must 
creep  away  to  die  of  pain  and  starvation? 
How  would  you  have  enjoyed  it  if,  from 
day  to  day,  you  had  been  forced  to  live 
in  terror  of  cunning  monsters,  who  at  any 
hour  might  appear  to  hurt  you  in  some 
new  fashion?  Do  you  suppose  that  animals 


THE  RED-FACED  MAN  153 

cannot  feel  fear,  and  is  continual  fear  the 
kind  of  friend  that  gives  them  a  '  first- 
class  time '?" 

To  this  last  argument  the  Man  seemed 
able  to  find  no  answer. 

"  Mr.  Hare,"  he  said  humbly,  "  we  are 
all  fallible.  Although  I  never  thought 
to  find  myself  in  the  position  of  having 
to  do  so,  I  will  admit  that  I  may  possibly 
have  been  mistaken  in  my  views  and  treat- 
ment of  you  and  your  kind,  and  indeed 
of  other  creatures.  If  so,  I  apologise  for 
any,  ah — temporary  inconvenience  I  may 
have  caused  you.  I  can  do  no  more." 

"  Come,  Hare,"  I  interposed,  "  that's 
handsome,  perhaps  you  might  let  bygones 
be  bygones." 

"Apologise!"  exclaimed  the  Hare. 
"  After  all  I  have  suffered  I  do  not  think  it 
is  enough.  At  the  very  least,  Mahatma,  he 
should  say  that  he  is  heartily  ashamed  and 
sorry." 


154   THE  MAHATMA  AND  THE  HARE 

"  Well,  well,"  said  the  Man,  "  it's  no  use 
making  two  bites  of  a  cherry.  I  am  sorry, 
truly  sorry  for  all  the  pain  and  terror  I 
have  brought  on  you.  If  that  won't  do 
let's  go  up  and  settle  the  matter,  and  if 
I've  been  wrong  I'll  try  to  bear  the  con- 
sequences like  a  gentleman.  Only,  Mr. 
Hare,  I  hope  that  you  will  not  wish  to 
put  your  case  more  strongly  against  me 
than  you  need." 

"  Not  I,  Man.  I  know  now  that  you 
only  erred  because  the  truth  had  not  been 
revealed  to  you — because  you  did  not 
understand.  All  that  I  will  ask,  if  I  can, 
is  that  you  may  be  allowed  to  tell  this 
truth  to  other  men." 

*  Well,  I  am  glad  to  say  I  can't  do 
that,  Hare." 

"Don't  be  so  sure,"  I  broke  in;  "it's 
just  the  kind  of  thing  which  might  be  de- 
creed— a  generation  or  two  hence  when 
the  world  is  fit  to  listen  to  you." 


THE  RED-FACED  MAN  155 

But  he  took  no  heed,  or  did  not  com- 
prehend me,  and  went  on — 

"  It  is  an  impossibility,  and  if  I  did  they 
would  think  me  a  lunatic  or  a  snivelling, 
sentimental  humbug.  I  believe  that  lots 
of  my  old  friends  would  scarcely  speak 
to  me  again.  Why,  putting  aside  the 
pleasures  of  sport,  if  the  views  you  preach 
were  to  be  accepted,  what  would  become 
of  keepers  and  beaters  and  huntsmen  and 
dog-breeders,  and  of  thousands  of  others 
who  directly  or  indirectly  get  their  living 
out  of  hunting  and  shooting?  Where  would 
game  rents  be  also? " 

"  I  don't  know,  I  am  sure,"  replied  the 
Hare  wearily.  "  I  suppose  that  they  would 
earn  their  living  in  some  other  way,  as 
they  must  in  countries  where  there  is  no 
sport,  and  that  you  would  have  to  make 
up  for  the  shooting  rents  by  growing  more 
upon  the  land.  You  know  that  after  all 
we  hares  and  the  other  game  eat  a  great 


156   THE  MAHATMA  AND  THE  HARE 

deal  which  might  be  saved  if  there  were 
not  so  many  of  us.  But  I  am  not  wise, 
and  I  have  never  looked  at  the  question 
from  that  point  of  view.  It  may  seem 
selfish,  but  I  have  to  consider  myself  and 
the  creatures  whose  cause  I  plead,  for 
something  inside  of  me  is  telling  me  now 
— yes,  now — that  all  of  them  are  speaking 
through  my  mouth.  It  says  that  is  why 
I  am  allowed  to  be  here  and  to  talk  with 
you  both;  for  their  sakes  rather  than  for 
my  own." 

"  If  you  have  more  to  say  you  had 
better  say  it  quickly,"  I  interrupted,  ad- 
dressing the  Red-faced  Man.  "  I  see 
that  the  Lights  are  beginning  to  change, 
which  means  that  soon  the  Road  will  be 
closed  and  the  Gates  opened." 

"  I  can't  remember  anything,"  he  an- 
swered. '  Yes,  there  is  one  matter,"  he 
added  nervously.  "  I  see,  Mr.  Hare,  that 
you  are  thinking  of  my  boy  Tom,  not  very 


THE  RED-FACED  MAN  157 

kindly  I  am  afraid.  As  you  have  been 
so  good  as  to  forgive  me  I  hope  that  you 
won't  be  hard  on  Tom.  He  is  not  at  all 
a  bad  sort  of  a  lad  if  a  little  thoughtless, 
like  many  other  young  people." 

"  I  don't  like  Tom,"  said  the  Hare,  with 
decision.  "  Tom  shot  me  when  you  told 
him  not  to  shoot.  Tom  shut  me  up  in 
a  filthy  place  with  a  yellow  rabbit  which 
he  forgot  to  feed,  so  that  it  wanted  to  eat 
me.  Tom  tried  to  cut  me  off  from  the 
wood  so  that  the  running  dogs  might 
catch  me,  although  you  shouted  to  him 
that  it  was  not  sportsmanlike.  Tom 
dragged  me  out  of  the  sea  and  blew 
down  my  nostrils  to  keep  me  alive.  Tom 
threw  me  to  the  hounds,  although  Giles 
remonstrated  with  him  and  even  the 
huntsman  begged  him  to  let  me  go.  I 
tell  you  that  I  don't  like  Tom." 

"Still,  Mr.  Hare,"  pleaded  the  Red- 
faced  Man,  "  I  hope  that  if  it  should  be 


158   THE  MAHATMA  AND  THE  HARE 

in  your  power  when  we  get  through 
those  Gates,  that  you  will  be  merciful  to 
Tom.  I  can't  think  of  much  to  say  for 
him  in  this  hurry,  but  there,  he  is  my 
only  son  and  the  truth  is  that  I  love 
him.  You  know  he  may  live — to  be  dif- 
ferent— if  you  don't  bring  some  mis- 
fortune on  him." 

'  Who  am  I  to  bring  misfortune  or  to 
withhold  it?"  asked  the  Hare,  softening 
visibly.  "  Well,  I  know  what  love  means, 
for  my  mother  loved  me  and  I  loved 
her  in  my  way.  I  tell  you  that  when 
I  saw  her  dead,  turned  from  a  beau- 
tiful living  thing  into  a  stained  lump  of 
flesh  and  fur,  I  felt  dreadful.  I  under- 
stand now  that  you  love  Tom  as  my  mother 
loved  me,  and,  Man,  for  the  sake  of  your 
love — not  for  his  sake,  mind — I  promise 
you  that  I  won't  say  anything  against  Tom 
if  I  can  help  it,  or  do  anything  either." 

"You're  a  real  good  fellow!"  exclaimed 


"  GUIDED,  GUARDED   BY  THE   SPIRITS   OF   DEAD   SUNS  " 


THE  RED-FACED  MAN'  161 

the  Red-faced  Man,  with  evident  relief. 
"  Give  me  your  hand.  Oh!  I  forgot,  you 
can't.  Hullo!  what's  up  now?  Every- 
thing seems  to  be  altering." 

As  he  spoke,  to  my  eyes  the  Lights 
began  to  change  in  earnest.  All  the 
sky  (I  call  it  sky  for  clearness)  above  the 
mighty  Gates  became  as  it  were  alive  with 
burning  tongues  of  every  colour  that  an 
artist  can  conceive.  By  degrees  these  fiery 
tongues  or  swords  shaped  themselves  into  a 
vast  circle  which  drove  back  the  walls  of 
darkness,  and  through  this  circle,  guided, 
guarded  by  the  spirits  of  dead  suns,  with 
odours  and  with  chantings,  descended  that 
crowned  City  of  the  Mansions  before  whose 
glory  imagination  breaks  and  even  Vision 
veils  her  eyes. 

It  descended,  its  banners  wavering  in  the 
winds  of  prayer;  it  hung  above  the  Gates, 
the  flower  of  all  splendours,  Heaven's  very 


162   THE  MAHATMA  AND  THE  HARE 

rose,  hung  like  an  opal  on  the  boundless 
breast  of  night,  and  there  it  stayed. 

The  Voice  in  the  North  called  to  the 
Voice  in  the  South;  the  Voice  in  the 
East  called  to  the  Voice  in  the  West, 
and  up  the  Great  White  Road  sped  the 
Angel  of  the  Road,  making  report  as  he 
came  that  all  his  multitude  were  gathered 
in  and  for  that  while  the  Road  was 
barred. 

He  passed  and  in  a  flash  the  Gates  were 
burned  away.  The  ashes  of  them  fell  upon 
the  heads  of  those  waiting  at  the  Gates, 
whitening  their  faces  and  drying  their 
tears  before  the  Change.  They  fell  upon 
the  Man  and  the  Hare  beside  me,  veiling 
them  as  it  were  and  making  them  silent, 
but  on  me  they  did  not  fall.  Then,  from 
between  the  Wardens  of  the  Gates,  flowed 
forth  the  Helpers  and  the  Guardians  (save 
those  who  already  were  without  comfort- 
ing the  children)  seeking  their  beloved  and 


THE  RED-FACED  MAN  163 

bearing  the  Cups  of  slumber  and  new  birth; 
then  pealed  the  question  — 

"Who  hath  suffered  most?  Let  that 
one  first  taste  of  peace." 

Now  all  the  dim  hosts  surged  forward 
since  each  outworn  soul  believed  that  it 
had  suffered  most  and  was  in  the  bitterest 
need  of  peace.  But  the  Helpers  and  the 
Guardians  gently  pressed  them  back,  and 
again  there  pealed,  no  question  but  a  com- 
mand. 

This  was  the  command: — 

"  DRAW  NEAR,  THOU  HARE." 

Jorsen  asked  me  what  happened  after 
this  justification  of  the  Hare,  which,  if  I 
heard  aright,  appeared  to  suggest  that  by 
the  decree  of  some  judge  unknown,  the 
woes  of  such  creatures  are  not  unnoted  and 
despised,  or  left  unsolaced.  Of  course  I 
had  to  answer  him  that  I  could  not  tell. 


164   THE  MAHATMA  AND  THE  HARE 

Perhaps  nothing  happened  at  all.  Per- 
haps all  the  wonders  I  seemed  to  see, 
even  the  Road  by  which  souls  travel  from 
There  to  Here  and  from  Here  to  There, 
and  the  Gates  that  were  burned  away, 
and  the  City  of  the  Mansions  that  de- 
scended, were  but  signs  and  symbols  of 
mysteries  which  as  yet  we  cannot  grasp 
or  understand. 

Whatever  may  be  the  truth  as  to 
this  matter  of  my  visions,  I  need  hardly 
add,  however,  that  no  one  can  be  more 
anxious  than  I  am  myself  to  learn  in  what 
way  the  Red-faced  Man,  speaking  on  be- 
half of  our  dominant  race,  and  the  Hare, 
speaking  as  an  appointed  advocate  of  the 
subject  animal  creation,  finished  their  argu- 
ment in  the  light  of  fuller  knowledge. 
Much  also  do  I  wonder  wjiich  of  them  was 
proved  to  be  right,  a  difficult  matter 
whereon  I  feel  quite  incompetent  to  ex- 
press any  views. 


THE  RED-FACED  MAN  165 

But  you  see  at  that  moment  I  woke  up. 
The  edge  of  the  Road  on  which  I  was 
standing  seemed  to  give  way  beneath  me, 
and  I  fell  into  space  as  one  does  in  a  night- 
mare. It  is  a  very  unpleasant  sensation. 

I  remember  noticing  afterwards  that  I 
could  not  have  been  long  asleep.  When  I 
began  to  dream  I  had  only  just  blown  out 
the  candle,  and  when  I  awoke  again  there 
was  still  a  smouldering  spark  upon  its  wick. 

But,  as  I  have  said,  in  that  spirit-land 
whither  I  had  journeyed  is  to  be  found 
neither  time  nor  space  nor  any  other 
familiar  thing. 


THE  END 


WILLIAM  DE  MORGAN'S  JOSEPH  VANCE 

A  touching  story,  yet  full  of  humor,  of  life-long  love  and 
heroic  sacrifice.  While  the  scene  is  mostly  in  and  near  the 
London  of  the  fifties,  there  are  some  telling  glimpses  of 
Italy,  where  the  author  lives  much  of  the  time  ($175). 

"  The  book  of  the  last  decade;  the  best  thing  in  fiction  since  Mr. 
Meredith  and  Mr.  Hardy;  must  take  its  place  as  the  first  great  English 
novel  that  has  appeared  in  the  twentieth  century." — LEWIS  MELVILLE  in 
New  York  Times  Saturday  Review. 

"  If  the  reader  likes  both  '  David  Copperfield  '  and  '  Peter  Ibbetson,' 
he  can  find  the  two  books  in  this  one." — The  Independent. 

WILLIAM  DE  MORGAN'S  AUCE-FOR-SHORT 

This  might  paradoxically  be  called  a  genial  ghost-and- 
murder  story,  yet  humor  and  humanity  again  dominate,  and 
the  most  striking  element  is  the  touching  love  story  of  an 
unsuccessful  man.  The  reappearance  in  Nineteenth  Century 
London  of  the  long-buried  past,  and  a  remarkable  case  of 
suspended  memory,  give  the  dramatic  background  ($1.75). 

"  Really  worth  reading  and  praising  .  .  .  will  be  hailed  as  a  master- 
piece. If  any  writer  of  the  present  era  is  read  a  half  century  hence, 
a  quarter  century,  or  even  a  decade,  that  writer  is  William  De 
Morgan." — Boston  Transcript. 

"  It  is  the  Victorian  age  itself  that  speaks  in  those  rich,  interesting, 
over-crowded  books.  .  .  .  Will  be  remembered  as  Dickens'  novels  are 
remembered." — Springfield  Republican. 

WILLIAM  DE  MORGAN'S  SOMEHOW  GOOD 

The  purpose  and  feeling  of  this  novel  are  intense,  yet  it  is 
all  mellowed  by  humor,  and  it  contains  perhaps  the  author's 
freshest  and  most  sympathetic  story  of  young  love.  Through- 
out its  pages  the  "  God  be  praised  evil  has  turned  to  good  " 
of  the  old  Major  rings  like  a  trumpet  call  of  hope.  This 
story  of  to-day  tells  of  a  triumph  of  courage  and  devotion 

($175). 

"  A  book  as  sound,  as  sweet,  as  wholesome,  as  wise,  as  any  in  the 
range  of  fiction." — The  Nation. 

41  Our  older  novelists  (Dickens  and  Thackeray)  will  have  to  look  to 
their  laurels,  for  the  new  one  is  fast  proving  himself  their  equal.  A 
higher  quality  of  enjoyment  than  is  derivable  from  the  work  of  any 
other  novelist  now  living  and  active  in  either  England  or  America." — 
The  Dial. 

HENRY     HOLT    AND     COMPANY 

34  WEST  3 3D  STREET  (vii' 10)  NEW  YORK 


WILLIAM  DE  MORGAN'S  IT  NEVER  CAN  HAPPEN  AGAIN 

This  novel  turns  on  a  strange  marital  complication,  and  is 
notable  for  two  remarkable  women  characters,  the  pathetic 
girl  Lizarann  and  the  beautiful  Judith  Arkroyd,  with  her 
stage  ambitions.  Lizarann's  father,  Blind  Jim,  is  very  ap- 
pealingly  drawn,  and  shows  rare  courage  and  devotion  despite 
cruel  handicaps.  There  are  strong  dramatic  episodes,  and 
the  author's  inevitable  humor  and  optimism  ($1.75). 

"  De  Morgan  at  his  very  best,  and  how  much  better  his  best  is 
than  the  work  of  any  novelist  of  the  past  thirty  years." — Independent. 

"  There  has  been  nothing  at  all  like  it  in  our  day.  The  best  of 
our  contemporary  novelists  ...  do  not  so  come  home  to  our  business 
and  our  bosoms  .  .  .  his  method  ...  is  very  different  in  most 
important  respects  from  that  of  Dickens.  He  is  far  less  the  showman, 
the  dashing  prestidigitator  .  .  .  more  like  Thackeray  .  .  .  precisely 
what  the  most  '  modern  '  novelists  are  striving  for — for  the  most  part 
in  vain  .  .  .  most  enchanting  .  .  .  infinitely  lovable  and  pathetic." — 
The  Nation. 

"  Another  long  delightful  voyage  with  the  best  English  company  .  .  . 
from  Dukes  to  blind  beggars  .  .  .  you  could  make  out  a  very  good 
case  for  handsome  Judith  Arkroyd  as  an  up-to-date  Ethel  Newcome 
.  .  .  the  stuff  that  tears  in  hardened  and  careless  hearts  are  made 
of  ...  singularly  perceiving,  mellow,  wise,  charitable,  humorous 
...  a  plot  as  well  defined  as  if  it  were  a  French  farce." — The  Times 
Saturday  Review. 

"  The  characters  of  Blind  Jim  and  Lizarann  are  wonderful — worthy 
of  Dickens  at  his  best." — Professor  WILLIAM  LYON  PHELVS,  of  Yale, 
author  of  "  Essays  on  Modern  Novelists." 


WILLIAM  DE  MORGAN'S  AN  AFFAIR  OF  DISHONOR 

A  dramatic  story  of  England  in  the  time  of  the  Restoration. 
It  commences  with  a  fatal  duel,  and  shows  a  new  phase  of  its 
remarkable  author.  The  movement  is  fairly  rapid,  and  the 
narrative  absorbing,  with  occasional  glints  of  humor  ($1.75). 


***  A  thirty-two  page  illustrated  leaflet  about  Mr.   De  Morgan,   with 
complete  reviews  of  his  first  four  books,  sent  on  request. 

HENRY     HOLT     AND     COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS  NEW  YORK 


ROMAIN  HOLLAND'S 

JEAN-CHRISTOPHE 

DAWN       •       MORNING       •       YOUTH       •       REVOLT 

Translated  by  GILBERT  CANNAN. 


600  pp.     $1.50  net;  by  mail,  $1.62, 

It  commences  with  vivid  episodes  of  this  musician's  child- 
hood, his  fears,  fancies,  and  troubles,  and  his  almost  uncanny 
musical  sense.  He  plays  before  the  Grand  Duke  at  seven, 
but  he  is  destined  for  greater  things.  An  idol  of  the  hour,  in 
some  ways  suggesting  Richard  Strauss,  tries  in  vain  to  wreck 
his  faith  in  his  career.  Early  love  episodes  follow,  and  at  the 
close  of  the  book,  the  hero,  like  Wagner,  has  to  fly,  a  hopeful 
exile. 

"  '  Hats  off,  gentlemen — a  genius.'  .  .  .  Has  the  time  come  for 
the  2oth  century  to  uncover  before  a  master  work?  A  book  as  big, 
as  elemental,  as  original  as  though  the  art  of  fiction  began  to-day." — 
Springfield  Republican. 

"  The  most  momentous  novel  that  has  come  to  us  from  France,  or 
from  any  other  European  country,  in  a  decade.  .  .  .  Highly 
commendable  and  effective  translation  ...  the  story  moves  at 
a  rapid  pace.  It  never  lags." — E.  F.  Edgett  in  Boston  Transcript. 

"  The  characters  of  his  story  prove  that  he  embraces  with  a  loving 
understanding  the  seven  ages  of  man.  ...  It  not  only  contains 
a  picture  of  contemporary  musical  life,  but  holds  a  message  bearing 
on  our  conception  of  life  and  art.  It  presents  genius  for  once  without 
the  morbid  features  that  obscure  its  essence." — Amelia  von  Ende  in 
New  York  Times  Review. 

"  An  amazing  performance  carried  through  by  an  exceptionally 
gifted  writer.  ...  It  demands  more  than  one  reading  on  account 
of  the  wider  life  in  the  basin  through  which  its  river  flows." — N'.  Y. 
Tribune. 

"The  other  hosts  of  characters  are  drawn  with  the  accuracy  and  sympathy  of 
Dickens  and  without  his  tendency  to  caricature.  .  .  .  M.  Holland  is  as  real- 
istic as  Zola,  and  as  discerning  of  inner  motive  and  conduct  as  Meredith.  He 
has  a  supreme  gift  for  seeing  and  telling  things.  .  .  .  The  first  impulse  is  to 
regard  that  opening  chapter  a  miracle." — Hartford  Courant. 

"  Not  to  know  this  work  will  soon  be  to  argue  oneself  unknown  in  the  realm 
of  those  devoted  to  the  best  fiction." — San  Francisco  Chronicle. 

HENRY     HOLT     AND     COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS  NEW  YORK 


L.  P.  JACKS'  MAD  SHEPHERDS  AND  OTHER  HUMAN 
STUDIES 

With  frontispiece  by  LESLIE  BROOKE.    $1.20  net;  by  mail,  $1.30. 

It  is  the  story  of  a  group  of  unusual  English  characters ; 
the  dominating  figures,  a  spiritually  inclined  shepherd  and  an 
atheistic  shoemaker. 

"  These  stories  have  laughter  in  them  at  the  same  time  that  they  have 
genuine  poetical  exultation.  ...  It  would  be  delightful  to  describe  and 
to  quote,  out  it  is  superfluous.  A  word  to  the  discriminating  is  sufficient, 
and  such  will  not  fail  to  acquire  the  book." — Chicago  Evening  Post, 

"  Of  very  uncommon  literary  quality  and  interest.  .  .  .  The  hero  is  a 
splendid  creation  tor  portrait.  Mr.  Jacks  can  tell  a  story  well  and  his 
humor  is  genuine.  ...  A  real  book  written  in  English  that  is  rarely 
found  now  in  fiction.  — New  York  Sun. 


S.  CARLETON  JONES'S  OUT  OF  DROWNING  VALLEY 

$1.50. 

"  A  gold  mine  in  a  desolate  valley  ...  a  danger  from  water  ...  a 
white  miner  ...  a  pack  of  villains  on  his  track,  and  a  woman  ...  in 
Mr.  Jones's  capable  hands  assume  new  vitality,  and  lure  one  from  page 
to  page  with  a  fresh  and  undivided  interest.  The  atmosphere  of  daring. 
danger,  mystery  and  suspense  is  felt,  the  desolate,  lonely  background  is 
admirably  used,  the  chain  of  events  is  a  convincing  one,  with  no  violent 
intervention  on  the  part  of  the  author,  and  the  characters  command  the 
partisanship  of  the  reader.  A  really  excellent  piece  of  work,  whose 
merits  should  make  its  way  an  easy  and  rapid  one  with  the  lovers  of  * 
strange  tale  of  adventure  and  love.  '— New  York  Tribune. 


EUGENE  MANLOVE  RHODES'  GOOD  MEN  AND  TRUE 

With  two  illustrations  by  H.  T.  DUNN. 

$1.00  net ;  by  mail,  $1.07. 

A  lively  tale  of  our  Texan  border.  The  hero  faces  deadly 
peril  with  humor  and  pluck.  His  "  Remington  "  is  not  a  rifle 
but  a  typewriter. 

"As  genuine  a  comedy  of  bloodshed  as  the  literature  of  the  rough  side 
of  American  mannerscan  furnish  .  .  .  a  welcome  creation  of  the  detec- 
tive model." —  The  Living  Age. 

"Clever  and  spirited  .  .  .  very  near  to  being  a  model  of  what  such  a 
•tory  should  be.  It  is  full  of  action,  extremely  concentrated  and  lively 
and  entertaining  in  style  .  .  .  about  as  good  as  it  could  be  made  .  .  .  the 
humor  is  of  a  brisk  and  entertaining  sort,  and  the  style  of  the  book  is 
unusually  good.  The  tale  deserves  a  wide  popularity." — Springfield 
Republican. 

"  The  unusual  book  is  always  welcome,  especially  where  it  boasts  a 
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acters .  .  .  abounds  in  real  humor  and  has  a  touch  that  is  unmistakably 
Stevensonian."— Philadelphia  Press. 

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Books  in  Which  to  Renew  One's  Youth 


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Phoebe  and  Ernest  Martin,  who  lately  created  such  en- 
thusiasm among  readers  of  the  American  Magazine^  here 
appear  with  new  incidents  which  make  this  book  a  complete 
chronicle  of  the  typical  American  brother  and  sister  of  high 
school  age. 

Parents  will  recognize  themselves  in  the  story,  and  laugh 
understandingly  with,  and  sometimes  at,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Martin 
and  their  children. 

Youths  and  maidens  will  understand  Phoebe  and  Ernest's 
experiences  and  problems. 

"  Attracted  delighted  attention  in  the  course  of  its  serial  publication. 
Sentiment  and  humor  are  deftly  mingled  in  this  clever  book." — N.  Y. 
Tribune. 


JOHN  MATTER'S  ONCE 

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An  idyl  of  boy  and  girl  life  in  a  small  town  in  the  Middle 
West,  intended  for  grown-ups  as  a  guide  to  pleasant  recollec- 
tions. 

"  If  you  would  be  taken  back  to  your  childhood  days  read  this  charm- 
ing story  of  the  happy  larks  of  these  real  children/'— Chicago  Evening 
Post. 

"  Pleasant  reminders  of  childish  incidents  which  will  awaken  memories 
in  all  his  readers.  .  .  .  His  youngsters  have  individuality  of  their 
own."— New  York  Sun. 


ALGERNON  BLACKWELL'S  THE  EDUCATION  OF 
UNCLE  PAUL 

By  the  author  of  "  JOHN  SILENCE."    $1.50. 

Boston  Transcript  :  "Quite  the  most  unusual  book  of  the  year.  .  .  . 
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tercourse of  children,  animals  and  uncle  is  compounded  of  humor, 
affection,  the  subtlest  of  observation  and  the  most  convincing  fan- 
tasy. .  .  .  Nixie  is  so  utterly  captivating  .  .  .  gratefully  the  reader 
treads  the  mysterious  ways  with  them  .  .  .  many  a  subtle  experience,  a 
riot  of  imagination  .  .  .  the  beauty  of  conception  and  the  quality  of 
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DELIGHTFUL  ANTHOLOGIES 

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covers  and  pictured  cover  linings.  i6mo.  Each,  cloth, 
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THE  GARLAND  OF  CHILDHOOD 

A  Little  Book  for  All    Lovers   of    Children.     Compiled  by 
PERCY  WITHERS.     A  collection  of  poetry  about  children 
for  grown-ups  to  read. 
"This  exquisite  anthology."— Boston  Transcript. 

THE  VISTA  OF  ENGLISH  VERSE 

Compiled  by  HENRY  S.  PANCOAST. 

From  Spenser  to  Kipling,  based  on  the  editor's  Standard 
English  Poems  with  additions. 

LETTERS  THAT  LIVE 

Compiled  by  LAURA  E.  LOCKWOOD  and  AMY  R.  KELLY. 
Some  150  letters  from  Walter  Paston  to  Lewis  Carroll. 
"  These  self-records  preserve  and  extend  the  personality  of  this  rare 
company  of  lolk.."—CAtcag»  Tribune. 

THE  POETIC  OLD-WORLD 

Compiled  by  LUCY  H.  HUMPHREY. 
Covers  Europe,  including  Spain,  Belgium  and  the  Britishlsles. 

THE  POETIC  NEW- WORLD 

Compiled  by  LUCY  H.  HUMPHREY,  a  companion  volume  to 
Miss  Humphrey's  "The  Poetic  Old- World." 

THE  OPEN  ROAD 

A  little  book  for  wayfarers.     Compiled  by  E.  V.  LUCAS. 
Some  125  poems  from  over  60  authors. 
"  A  very  charming  book  from  cover  to  cover."— Dial, 

THE  FRIENDLY  TOWN 

A  little  book  for  the  urbane,  compiled  by  E.  V.  LUCAS. 
Over  200  selections  in  verse  and  prose  from  100  authors. 
"  Would  have  delighted  Charles  Lamb."—  The  Nation. 

POEMS  FOR  TRAVELERS 

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leather,  $2. 50.  Covers  France,  Germany,  Austria,  Switzer- 
land, Italy,  and  Greece  in  some  300  poems. 

A  BOOK  OF  VERSES  FOR  CHILDREN 

Over  200  poems  representing  some  80  authors.  Compiled  by 
E.  V.  LUCAS.  With  decorations  by  F.  D.  BEDFORD.  Gift 
edition,  $2.00.  Library  edition,  $1.00  net. 

"We  know  of  no  other  anthology  for  children  so  complete  and  well 
arranged.  "—Critic. 

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LEADING   AMERICANS 

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LEADING  AMERICAN  SOLDIERS 

By  R.  M.  JOHNSTON,  Lecturer  in  Harvard  University,  Au- 
thor of  "'Napoleon,"  etc. 

Washington,  Greene,  Taylor,  Scott,  Andrew  Jackson,  Grant, 
Sherman,  Sheridan,  McClellan,  Meade,  Lee,  "  Stonewall  " 
Jackson,  Joseph  E.  Johnston. 

"  Very  interesting  .  .  .  much  sound  originality  of  treatment,  and 
the  style  is  very  clear." — Springfield  Republican. 

LEADING  AMERICAN  NOVELISTS 

By  Professor  JOHN  ERSKINE  of  Columbia. 
Charles  Brockden  Brown,  Cooper,  Simms,  Hawthorne,  Mrs. 
Stowe,  and  Bret  Harte. 

"  He  makes  his  study  of  these  novelists  all  the  more  striking  because 
of  their  contrasts  of  style  and  their  varied  purpose.  .  .  .  Cooper  .  .  . 
and  .  .  .  Hawthorne  ...  of  both  he  gives  us  an  exceedingly  graphic 
picture,  showing  the  men  both  through  their  life  and  their  works.  He 
is  especially  apt  at  a  vivid  characterization  of  them  as  they  appeared 
in  the  eyes  of  their  contemporaries  .  .  .  well  worth  any  amount  of 
time  we  may  care  to  spend  upon  them." — Boston  Transcript. 

LEADING   AMERICAN  ESSAYISTS 

By  WILLIAM  MORTON  PAYNE,  Associate  Editor  of  The  Dial. 

A  General  Introduction  dealing  with  essay  writing  in 
America,  and  biographies  of  Irving,  Emerson,  Thoreau,  and 
George  William  Curtis. 

"  It  is  necessary  to  know  only  the  name  of  the  author  of  this  work 
to  be  assured  of  its  literary  excellence." — Literary  Digest. 

LEADING  AMERICAN  MEN  OF  SCIENCE 

Edited   by   President   DAVID   STARR  JORDAN. 

COUNT  RUMFORD,  by  Edwin  E.  Slosson;  ALEXANDER  WILSON  and 
AUDUBON,  by  Witmer  Stone;  SILLIMAN,  by  Daniel  Coit  Oilman;  JOSEPH 
HENRY,  by  Simon  Newcomb;  Louis  AGASSIZ,  by  Charles  Frederick 
Holder;  JEFFRIES  WYMAN,  by  Burt  C.  Wilder;  ASA  GRAY,  by  John  M. 
Coulter;  JAMES  DWIGHT  DANA,  by  William  North  Rice;  SPENCER 
FULLERTON  BAiRD,  by  Holder;  MARSH,  by  Geo.  Bird  Grinnell;  EDWARD 
DRINKER  COPE,  by  Marcus  Benjamin;  JOSIAH  WILLARD  GIBBS,  by  Edwin 
E.  Slosson;  SIMON  NEWCOMB,  by  Marcus  Benjamin;  GEORGE  BROWN 
GOODE,  by  David  Starr  Jordan;  HENRY  AUGUSTUS  ROWLAND,  by  Ira 
Remsen;  WILLIAM  KEITH  BROOKS,  by  E.  A.  Andrews. 

OTHER  VOLUMES  contracted  for,  covering  LAWYERS,  POETS, 
STATESMEN,  EDITORS,  EXPLORERS,  etc.  Leaflet  on  application. 

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THE  WORLD'S  LEADERS 

A   NEW   SERIES    OF    BIOGRAPHIES 

Edited  by  W.  P.  TRENT 

The  notable  interest  in  biography  has  generally  been  met 
by  two  widely  different  classes  of  publication— the  biographi- 
cal dictionaries,  and  volumes  devoted  each  to  an  individual 
I  here  seems  room  for  a  series  devoted  to  individuals  in  whose 
lives  everybody  is  interested,  and  systematically  arranged. 

This  new  series  is  to  be  called  "  The  World's  Leaders  " 
It  will  consist  of  large  I2mo  volumes,  each  containing  from 
five  to  a  dozen  biographies,  classified  by  volumes  according 
to  the  pursuits  of  the  men  treated.  It  will  include  only  those 
whose  names  are  known  to  virtually  all  reading  people,  and 
will  be  written  by  the  most  capable  authors  who  can  be  inter- 
ested in  the  task.  Pains  will  be  taken  to  make  the  volumes 
interesting  and  inspiring,  no  less  than  reliable  and  instructive. 

The  books  are  designed  not  so  much  to  recount  history,  as 
to  portray  the  men  who,  in  their  respective  departments, 
have  made  history.  It  is  intended  that  the  contents  shall  be 
biographies  rather  than  treatises  on  the  various  fields  of  ac- 
tivity in  which  their  subjects  gained  eminence,  or  than 
expositions,  criticisms  or  philosophies;  and  yet  it  is  realized 
that  the  best  biography  must  contain  something  of  each  of 
the  others. 

It  is  not  intended  to  put  the  books  on  a  plane  that  will 
make  much  in  them  unattractive  to  any  boy  of  fifteen  who 
would  care  to  read  biography. 

Each,  with  portraits.  Large  i2mo.  Probable  price,  $1.75 
net. 

H.  W.  Boynton's  The  World's  Leading  Poets.— Homer,  Virgil, 

Dante,  Shakespeare,  Milton,  Goethe. 
G.   B.  Rose's  The   World's   Leading    Painters.— Leonardo  da 

Vinci,  Raphael,  Titian,  Rubens,  Velasquez,  Rembrandt. 
W.  L.  Sevan's  The  World's  Leading  Conquerors.— Alexander, 

Csesar,  Charles  the  Great,  The  Ottoman  Conquerors  of 

Europe,  Cortes  and  Pizarro,  Napoleon. 

Other  Volumes  in  Preparation 

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LATEST  VOLUMES  IN 

THE   AMERICAN   NATURE   SERIES 

(Prospectus  of  entire  Series  on  request) 
THE  CARE  OF  TREES  IN  LAWN,  STREET,  AND  PARK 

By  B.  E.  FERNOW,  of  the  University  of  Toronto.  Illustrated. 
$2.00  net. 

Written  for  amateurs  by  a  forester,  this  volume  furnishes  information 
such  as  the  owner  of  trees  or  the  "  tree  warden"  may  need. 

"  Truly  admirable  .  .  .  eminently  practical.  .  .  .  His  list  of  trees  desirable 
for  shade  and  ornament  is  a  full  and  most  valuable  one,  and  the  illustrations 
are  enlightening."— ,<y.  Y.  Tribune. 

HARDY  PLANTS  FOR  COTTAGE  GARDENS 

By  HELEN  R.  ALBEE,  Author  of  "  Mountain  Playmates." 
Illustrated.  I2mo. 

A  personal  and  very  readable  record,  illustrated  by  photographs,  of  the 
author's  success  in  assembling  within  a  limited  area,  the  choice  varieties  of 
hardy  shrubs,  annuals,  and  perennials,  so  arranged  as  to  give  a  succession  of 
bloom  of  pure  color  in  each  bed.  With  a  list  giving  manner  of  growth, 
height,  time  of  blooming,  exact  color,  special  requirements  of  soil  and 
moisture,  "  easy  ways"  taught  by  experience,  and  many  et  ceteras  of  vital 
importance. 
<5HFII  FI<*H  llSiniKTRIFQ  By  JAMES  L.  KELLOGG 

SHELL-FISH  of  williams  College. 

Illustrated  by  half-tones  and  original  drawings.    $1.75  net. 

Covers  classification,  propagation,  and  distribution. 

"  Interests  all  classes,  the  biologist,  the  oyster  grower,  the  trader  and  the 
eater  of  oysters.  The  science  is  accurate,  and  in  some  points  new;  it  is 
made  perfectly  comprehensible  and  the  whole  book  is  very  readable."— New 
York  Sun. 

FISH  STORIES:    Alleged  and  Experienced,  with  a  Little 
History,  Natural  and  Unnatural 

By  CHARLES  F.  HOLDER,  Author  of  "The  Log  of  a  Sea 
Angler,"  etc.,  and  DAVID  STARR  JORDAN,  Author  of  "  A  Guide 
to  the  Study  of  Fishes,"  etc.  With  colored  plates  and  many 
illustrations  from  photographs.  $1.75  net. 

11  A  delightful  miscellany,  telling  about  fish  of  the  strangest  kind,  with 
scientific  description  melting  into  accounts  of  personal  adventure.  Nearly 
everything  that  is  entertaining  in  the  fish  world  is  touched  upon  and  science 
and  fishing  are  made  very  readable."— New  York  Sun. 

INSECT  STORIES  By  VERNON  L.  KELLOGG. 

Illustrated,  $1.50  net. 

Strange,  true  stories,  primarily  for  children,  but  certainly  for  those  grown- 
ups who  like  to  read  discriminatingly  to  their  children. 

"  The  author  is  among  a  few  scientific  writers  of  distinction  who  can 
interest  the  popular  mind.  No  intelligent  youth  can  fail  to  read  it  with 
delight  and  profit."—  The  Nation. 

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SIXTH  EDITION,    ENLARGED    AND    WITH    PORTRAITS 

HALE'S    DRAMATISTS    OF    TO-DAY 

ROSTAND,     HAUPTMANN,     SUDERMANN, 
PINERO,  SHAW,  PHILLIPS,  MAETERLINCK 

By  PROF.    EDWARD    EVERETT    HALE,  JR.,  of  Union  College. 
With  gilt  top,  $1.50  net;  by  mail,  $1.60. 

Since  this  work  first  appeared  in  1905,  Maeterlinck's  SISTER 
BEATRICE,  THE  BLUE  BIRD  and  MARY  MAGDALENE,  Rostand's 
CHANTECLER  and  Pinero's  MID-CHANNEL  and  THE  THUNDER- 
BOLT— among  the  notable  plays  by  some  of  Dr.  Hale's  drama- 
tists—have been  acted  here.  Discussions  of  them  are  added 
to  this  new  edition,  as  are  considerations  of  Bernard  Shaw's 
and  Stephen  Phillips'  latest  plays.  The  author's  papers  on 
Hauptmann  and  Sudermann,  with  slight  additions,  with  his 
"Note  on  Standards  of  Criticism,"  "Our  Idea  of  Tragedy," 
and  an  appendix  of  all  the  plays  of  each  author,  with  dates  of 
their  first  performance  or  publication,  complete  the  volume. 

Bookman:  "He  writes  in  a  pleasant,  free-and-easy  way.  .  .  .  He 
accepts  things  chiefly  at  their  face  value,  but  he  describes  them  so  ac- 
curately and  agreeably  that  he  recalls  vividly  to  mind  the  plays  we 
have  seen  and  the  pleasure  we  have  found  in  them." 

New  York  Evening  Post :  "  It  is  not  often  nowadays  that  a  theatrical 
book  can  be  met  with  so  free  from  gush  and  mere  eulogy,  or  so  weighted 
by  common  sense  ...  an  excellent  chronological  appendix  and  full 
index  .  .  .  uncommonly  useful  for  reference." 

Dial:  "  Noteworthy  example  of  literary  criticism  in  one  of  the  most 
interesting  of  literary  fields.  .  .  .  Provides  a  varied  menu  of  the 
most  interesting  character.  .  .  .  Prof.  Hale  establishes  confidential 
relations  with  the  reader  from  the  start.  .  .  .  Very  definite  opinions, 
clearly  reasoned  and  amply  fortified  by  example.  .  .  .  Well  worth 
reading  a  second  time." 

New  York  Tribune:    "  Both  instructive  and  entertaining." 

Brooklyn  Eagle:  "A  dramatic  critic  who  is  not  just  'busting'  him- 
self with  Titanic  intellectualities,  but  who  is  a  readable  dramatic  critic. 
.  .  .  Mr.  Hale  is  a  modest  and  sensible,  as  well  as  an  acute  and  sound 
critic.  .  .  .  Most  people  will  be  surprised  and  delighted  with  Mr. 
Hale's  simplicity,  perspicuity  and  ingenuousness." 

The  Theatre:  "  A  pleasing  lightness  of  touch.  .  .  .  Very  read- 
able book." 


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NEW  POPULAR  EDITION,  WITH  APPENDIX 

Containing  tables,  etc.,  of  the  Opera  Season  1908-11. 

"The  most  complete  and  authoritative  .  .  .  pre-eminently  the  man 
to  write  the  book  .  .  .  full  of  the  spirit  of  discerning  criticism.  .  .  . 
Delightfully  engaging  manner,  with  humor,  allusiveness  and  an  abund- 
ance of  the  personal  note." — Richard  Aldrich  in  New  York  Times  Re- 
view. (Complete  notice  on  application.) 

CHAPTERS  OF  OPERA 

Being  historical  and  critical  observations  and  records  con- 
cerning the  Lyric  Drama  in  New  York  from  its 
earliest  days  down  to  the  present  time. 

By  HENRY  EDWARD  KREHBIEL,  musical  critic  of  the  New  York 
Tribune,  author  of  "  Music  and  Manners  in  the  Classical 
Period,"  "  Studies  in  the  Wagnerian  Drama,"  "  How  to 
Listen  to  Music,"  etc.  With  over  70  portraits  and  pictures 
of  Opera  Houses.     450  pp.     izmo.     $2.50  net;  by  mail, 
$2.68.     Illustrated  circular  on  application. 
This  is  perhaps  Mr.  Krehbiel's  most  important  book.     The 
first  seven  chapters  deal  with  the  earliest  operatic  perform- 
ances in  New  York.     Then  follows  a  brilliant  account  of  the 
first  quarter-century  of  the  Metropolitan,  1883-1908.     He  tells 
how  Abbey's  first  disastrous  Italian  season  was  followed  by 
seven  seasons  of  German  Opera  under  Leopold  Damrosch 
and  Stanton,  how  this  was  temporarily  eclipsed  by  French 
and  Italian,  and  then  returned  to  dwell  with  them  in  har- 
mony, thanks  to  Walter  Damrosch's  brilliant  crusade, — also 
of  the  burning  of  the  opera  house,  the  vicissitudes  of  the 
American  Opera  Company,  the  coming  and  passing  of  Grau 
and  Conried,  and  finally  the  opening  of  Oscar  Hammerstein's 
Manhattan  Opera  House  and  the  first  two  seasons  therein, 
1906-08. 

"Presented  not  only  in  a  readable  manner  but  without  bias  .  .  . 
extremely  interesting  and  valuable."— Nation. 

"The  illustrations  are  a  true  embellishment  .  .  .  Mr.  Krehbiel's 
style  was  never  more  charming.  It  is  a  delight." — Philip  Hale  in  Boston 
Herald. 

"Invaluable  for  purpose  of  reference  .  .  .  rich  in  critical  passages 
.  .  .all  the  great  singers  of  the  world  have  been  heard  here.  Most  of 
the  great  conductors  have  come  to  our  shores.  .  .  .  Memories  of 
them  which  serve  to  humanize,  as  it  were,  his  analyses  of  their  work."— 
New  York  Tribune. 

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8th  printing  of  "one  of  the  most  important  books  on  music 
that  has  ever  been  printed"  (W.  J.  Henderson). 

With  a  chapter  by  HENRY  E.  KREHBIEL,  covering  Richard 
Strauss,  Cornelius,  Goldmark,  Kienzl,  Humperdink,  Smetana, 
Dvorak,  Charpentier,  Sullivan,  Elgar,  etc.,  in  addition  to  his 
earlier  chapter  on  Music  in  America. 

Practically  a  cyclopedia  of  its  subject. 

MUSIC  AND  MUSICIANS 

By  PROF.  ALBERT  LAVIGNAC,  Author  of  "  The  Music  Dramas 
of  Richard  Wagner."  Translated  by  WILLIAM  MAR- 
CHANT.  I2mo.  $1.75  net  (by  mail,  $1.90). 

This  remarkable  book  by  the  doyen  of  the  Paris  Con- 
servatory, has  been  accepted  as  a  standard  work  in  America, 
and  reprinted  in  England.  It  is  difficult  to  briefly  give  an  idea 
of  its  comprehensiveness,  which,  with  its  518  pages,  94  illus- 
trations, 510  examples  in  Musical  Notation,  and  over  1,000 
references  in  the  index,  makes  it,  as  the  Dial  says,  "  in  fact, 
although  not  in  form,  a  veritable  encyclopaedia  of  music." 
"  The  wonder  is,"  says  the  well-known  writer  on  musical 
subjects,  W.  J.  HENDERSON,  "that  those  parts  of  the  book 
which  ought  to  be  dry  are  so  readable  ...  a  style  which 
can  be  fairly  described  as  fascinating."  The  work  is  divided 
as  follows:  A  Study  of  Musical  Sound  (66  pp.) — Materials 
of  Sound  (122  pp.),  including  the  voice,  orchestral  instru- 
ments, with  pictures  of  each,  many  other  instruments,  and 
an  illuminating  account  of  orchestration — Grammar  of  Music 
(152  pp.),  covering  the  harmonic  system,  counterpoint,  and 
the  fugue — Esthetics  (41  pp.),  including  Composition,  with  a 
discussion  of  the  forms  of  the  sonata,  symphony,  concerto, 
overture,  dance  forms,  national  characteristics,  improvisation, 
criticism  and  the  beautiful  in  music — History  of  the  Art  of 
Music  (106  pp.),  covering  the  ancients,  the  primitives,  and 
the  various  national  schools  with  notes  on  the  individual  com- 
posers and  some  performers,  and  concluding  remarks  on  the 
musical  career.  To  this  is  added  the  Appendix  by  the  well- 
known  American  authority,  H.  E.  KREHBIEL,  covering  Music 
in  America  and  The  Present  State  of  the  Art  of  Music. 

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